Return to the Happy Helg - Part Two
by Salchat
Summary: John and the team travel to the mountains of the forest farmers' world to investigate the origins of the monstrous grenza, thought to have been created by the Ancients. What dangers will they encounter? What secrets will they unlock? (Will Rodney get the sandwich he has requested?) And can they save their friends' world from catastrophic climate change?
1. Chapter 1

_John imagined himself flying upward, higher and higher until the blue darkened to indigo in the upper atmosphere and then altered into the jewelled black of a high orbit. What would he see from such a position? Circling the globe, would he see the reason for the change in the weather patterns? Was it just the natural, inevitable heating of the worldwide system, that could mean an end to the forest-dwellers' way of life? And what would they find in the mountains? A dripping cave wherein had once dwelt a card-carrying, cauldron-toting, spell-weaving witch? Or perhaps a ZPM-laden, genuine Ancient outpost. John knew that no matter what secrets the mountains held, he and his team would track them down._

**Chapter 1**

To anyone unaccustomed to such a sight, Teyla thought, the beauty on display would be breath-taking; the deep, purest blue of the oceans and the wonderful variety of vibrant greens and soft browns and greys of the land, highlighted and hazed with cloud formations of intricate stipples and swirls. The planet turned slowly, inexorably, with ineffable majesty.

"Anyone hungry?

"Sure. I could eat."

Teyla smiled at the contrast between the sublime and the mundane, and turned her attention to her three teammates.

"Unbelievable!"

"What, that I'm hungry or that Ronon's sharing?"

"Not that! Although, yes, my blood sugar is getting a little low, now you mention it. Is there cake?"

"I don't know, Rodney. What's unbelievable?"

Rodney screwed himself round in the Jumper's co-pilot's seat. "Ronon, is there cake? What's unbelievable," he said, turning back toward John, "even, one might say, inconceivable, is that this place," he waved at the offending planet, "doesn't have a name!"

"Yeah, there's cake," came Ronon's voice from the rear compartment. "What sandwiches do you want?"

Teyla considered her sandwich choice and cultural issues simultaneously.

"The people of the forest do not see the need to refer to their planet as a whole, Rodney. I would like chicken salad, please, Ronon."

"Turkey! Dibs on the turkey! Yeah, they don't even name local stuff, McKay. They just say 'the forest', 'the mountains' and so on."

"Is there a cholt, Ronon? I asked the kitchen staff to make me a cholt, so if there is, that's mine!" yelled Rodney. "So, what do they say if they go off-world: 'Hi, my name's Tam, I'm from the forest!'? Ridiculous!"

"What the hell's a cholt, Rodney? Sounds like some kind of disease!"

"It's cheese, helg-ham, onion, lettuce and tomato-thing."

"Tomato-thing?"

"You know, the thing that's like a tomato!"

"Do you mean the inza fruit, Rodney?" said Teyla, enjoying the familiar inanity of her team's conversation.

"I still say it should have a name! Yes, inza, that's the one. What name did they put on the trading agreement, Teyla?"

"The agreement was in the name of the farming co-operative. Thank you, Ronon."

"Better no name than a stupid name," said Ronon. "Heads up!"

"Thanks, Ronon." John caught his wrapped sandwich one-handed.

"Ow! You didn't have to throw it!" Rodney rubbed his head and began to unwrap his sandwich. "Although, I suppose, given that they don't seem to care much about dates, or even the time of day, maybe it's not surprising. I mean, there isn't even a clock at the Helg. Not one!"

John swallowed his mouthful. "No! And no clocks means no closing time!"

"There's no point pretending to be a party animal, Sheppard. We all know you can't hold your beer," smirked Rodney.

"Don't dish it out if you can't take it, McKay!" John responded. "Hey, Ronon, you said there was cake - there any seeds in it?"

"Oh ha ha, Sheppard, you're so funny!" Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his seat, recalling the recent incident involving his consumption of nearly half of a large seed-laden cake meant for new helg mothers, and its unfortunate effects on his digestive system.

"How will we carry out a survey of the planet's weather?" Teyla intervened, before the sniping descended further toward the level of children who were too young to learn to hunt, which in Athosian culture, was very young indeed.

"We should look at coastal areas," said Rodney, grimacing. "For evidence of storm damage and flooding. How much onion did they put in this thing?" He opened his sandwich and peered at the contents. "I gave strict instructions that the onion should be thinly sliced. Look at this! Do you call that thinly sliced?" He held up a large chunk of onion for inspection.

"What about sea levels? Sea levels rise when there's global warming, don't they?" asked John.

"Perhaps if you had not addressed Airman Collins as 'Airperson, cook or whatever,' he might have been more responsive to your request, Rodney," said Teyla, dryly. Ronon snorted and they exchanged amused glances.

"They should be pleased that someone's inventing new sandwich combinations!"

"Rodney? Sea levels?" repeated John, crumpling up his wrapper and hurling it vaguely in the direction of the rear compartment. He looked guilty under Teyla's glare. _As well he should, _she thought.

"Yes, of course sea level measurements would be useful, except, oh yes, we haven't got any from previous years to compare them to and, bearing in mind the locals' attitude toward naming and measuring things, I think that'll be an unqualified 'no' from them too!"

"Rodney!" said Teyla, quellingly.

He subsided, grumbling about too much onion and his delicate digestion.

"Okay, folks, heading back into the atmosphere," said John. "Prepare for a smooth ride, because Zelenka spent all week servicing this thing!"

Everybody ignored Rodney's 'humph' of disbelief.

Teyla looked around at her team, with a sense of satisfaction; they had spent just under two weeks at the Happy Helg, recuperating from their previous mission, and had all been impatient for Colonel Carter's approval to return to active duty. They had each found their own ways of healing in body and mind; Teyla had enjoyed the tranquility of the forest and the day-to-day calm routine of the pub and its comings and goings. Ronon had spent a lot of time helping out on the surrounding farms; he had told Teyla that, in repairing boundary walls, he must have lifted a thousand rocks, and had flexed his arms to show off his newly strengthened muscles. Rodney, as far as Teyla could tell, would have simply eaten and slept his vacation away, if it hadn't been for the insistent demands of Boudicca and the two prissets, Sharpie and Chaser, whose favourite technique was to bump up against the underside of Rodney's hammock, until he agreed to take part in some energetic play; they knew he needed the exercise, even if he didn't.

John had been the most amusing to watch, Teyla reflected, once he had recovered from the unfortunate incident caused by Ronon's flashback, and when he had relaxed into his vacation enough to set aside some of his responsibilities for a while. He was rarely still, and watching his antics dressed in a series of lurid pairs of shorts and increasingly disreputable t-shirts, Teyla got an inkling of what he must have been like as a boy, and how much he must have tried his mother's patience. He swung on his hammock until it broke, and then he found some rope, climbed a tree, tied it to a branch, and launched himself, flying from the edge of the forest and out over the slope, whooping and calling to Rodney to come and join him; Rodney didn't. Teyla had been in the kitchen with Lil, enjoying a vigorous and satisfyingly violent dough-kneading session, when John appeared sheepishly on the threshold, various minor injuries to be attended to that had been incurred when the rope had frayed and snapped.

He had then learnt to ride on Tayko, the young helg, who was as much a daredevil as John. In fact, they seemed to encourage each other to new heights of daredevilry and John had fallen off so many times that Lil had finally called an exasperated halt and told him that if he must ride, he could sit on Franca as she pottered about the yard with her twelve new helgets. Sneering at such a tame occupation, John had sulked around the pub, looking bored and forlorn, dressings on knees and elbows, until the local wives' group arrived to sit in the parlour with their babies, while children from toddler age upward played outside. Teyla, somebody's baby on her knee (she had given up trying to match babies to mothers as they crawled around her feet) had heard John, through the open front door, organising the children into football teams and teaching them the game. Teyla had taken the baby to the window (trailing chunks of pickled egg dropped from chubby hands) and had been in time to see Handa, a menacing adolescent redhead that Teyla remembered from the winter, throw herself wholeheartedly into the art of tackling by bringing John crashing to the ground. He had been both winded and impressed and she, recognising a kindred spirit, had been painfully audible during the rest of the vacation, challenging, if not ordering John to 'climb this', 'run there' or, occasionally (and Teyla hoped he hadn't), 'shoot that'.

John glanced over his shoulder at Teyla while he guided the Jumper into the upper atmosphere and grinned, his boyish excitement at being back on the job shining through his reassumed command responsibilities. Teyla returned his smile.

oOo

Through the mental link provided by his ATA gene, John felt the little ship increase its power output in order to push its way back into the planet's atmosphere. With a little mental nudge, he asked it to scan for storm centres and display them on the HUD.

The team's primary mission objective was to investigate the mountain range nearest to the Gate for any evidence of Ancient facilities, based on the locals' inherited knowledge told through a children's tale. The story concerned a 'witch' who lived in the mountains, who had created creatures called grenza, which were meant to act as guardians to the population; the experiment had gone awry, and the grenza had turned out to be homicidal monsters. John remembered his painful, up-close-and-personal encounter with one of the creatures during the previous winter and hoped they didn't meet any in the mountains which, unfortunately, were their home turf. Anyway, Carson had found markers in the grenza's DNA indicating that they had indeed been artificially created, and so it seemed worth investigating.

The secondary mission objective, to look for signs of, and potential reasons for global warming, was the result of the extreme weather changes noticed by the inhabitants over the last several years, not least the recent severe drought, which was beginning to pose a serious threat to their livelihood.

"That seems like a lot of storms, but it could be normal," remarked Rodney, studying the display. "Go in closer, along that coastline," he said, pointing at the screen.

John guided the Jumper to the southern tip of the main, large continent and descended until they could see more details and the shape of the land.

"That bay," said Rodney. "Zoom in on that."

The display changed and a large area of flattened coastal forest was revealed, brown with mud where a huge volume of water had drained back into the sea.

"Looks like a tidal wave hit it," said John.

Ronon and Teyla got up and stood behind them.

"Is this area inhabited?" asked Teyla.

"No," Rodney replied. "There are no human life signs registering and someone would have survived, I think. Let's have a look at that delta further north."

The display changed, revealing signs of major flooding, and as they studied the length of the coastline, they encountered more and more signs of extreme weather conditions.

"I'm not flying anywhere near that," said John, turning the Jumper to face the ocean. A huge storm front loomed on the horizon, towering black clouds piled high, their ragged edges streaming and flickers of lightning visible in their depths. John pulled the Jumper away and back into the upper atmosphere. "D'you spot any reason for all this, McKay?"

Rodney looked at the HUD and then at his laptop, tapped a few keys, frowned and looked at the HUD again. John waited.

"McKay?"

"In short, yes and no," said Rodney. "Yes, in that, taking the available evidence into account, I postulate that the weather events are indeed a result of global warming, which is itself due to relatively high concentrations of methane in the atmosphere. But no, in that I have no working theory to explain the presence of such concentrations."

"Methane? You'd be able to smell that, wouldn't you?" asked John.

"No. You're thinking of methane in the form of marsh gas or animals'... er... 'emissions' when it's mixed with other things. Methane itself is odourless."

"So, what do we do?" Ronon asked.

"Do? Nothing!" said Rodney, bitterly. "Might as well break out the cake!"

"Rodney!"

"Look, if a planet's heating up naturally, there's nothing we can do, is there? And, unless we come across evidence to the contrary, we have to assume this is natural. It's not as if we've discovered a previously hidden industrial nation, pumping out huge amounts of greenhouse gases, is it?"

"Wouldn't be the first time!" said John, thinking of the Genii. He looked at Rodney, unhappily tapping at his laptop, and knew his dismissive tone was a front, hiding his worry and sense of helplessness. If the inhabitants were under serious threat, then Atlantis would help; but if that help took the form of evacuation, their tight-knit community and their culture would probably not survive the displacement; and as for the animals...

John turned around in his seat, but Teyla had anticipated his request.

"Thanks, Teyla," he said, taking the chunk of cake. Rodney ate his with his usual dispatch, but his mouth drooped and his frustration was palpable.

oOo

_Hard country, _thought Ronon, who knew what it was like to try to live off such land; hard, even in this world's summer, and in winter? Not a chance.

Sheppard was guiding the Jumper along the western side of a broad gap that ran roughly north-south through the centre of the mountain range. Flying above the mountains, no energy readings or visible signs of Ancient activity had been detected and so they had agreed to try a close-up inspection of the gap, as being a likely route to have once been used, even ten thousand years ago. They had begun in the foothills and then flown on, further into the harsh landscape of the high mountain range. Ronon, hovering over the dialling panel, narrowed his eyes as he noted the sheer, rocky slopes, nearly bare of vegetation, that rose up either side of the natural break in the mountain range, a sheen of faded green in the base of the valley suggesting a scant covering of short alpine grasses bordering a stream. Only the very tips of the highest peaks were snow-clad, which seemed wrong for this landscape; the permanent snowline should be lower than that.

"Are you definitely scanning for traces of naquadah?" Rodney asked, sharply.

"Yes!" said John. "Look!" He pointed at the HUD.

"Hmm..." said Rodney, unconvinced. "If you'd let me fly it'd pick up exactly what I'm looking for. It's too busy swooning over your genuine Ancient gene to pick up any subtleties."

"Swooning? Here's a word for you, McKay: anthropomorphism!"

"Huh!" Rodney scoffed. "You've been reading the dictionary, haven't you? Think you can beat me at Scrabble? No chance!"

"You get seven letters in Scrabble, Rodney. You couldn't make anthropomorphism even if someone'd already put morph." John steered the Jumper in a series of smug little wiggles to follow the shape of the mountainside.

"Subtleties, Sheppard!" insisted Rodney. "You've just thought, 'Scan for naquadah,' haven't you? If I was flying it'd know exactly what I'm after, i.e. complex compounds of naquadah and its isotopes in the forms used by the Ancients that made their architecture uniquely durable!"

Ronon didn't think Sheppard would let McKay take over; not in this environment, miles from anywhere; and the manoeuvring to follow the line of the slope and into the entrances of adjoining valleys was pretty tricky.

"Only we could search all day, no, all year like this and not find anything, whereas..."

"Alright! I get it!" John banked the Jumper into a curve to take it away from the mountainside. "Here. Take the stick, configure the sensors how you want, and then I'll take it again."

"Oh. Yes. Good plan." Rodney slid into the pilot's seat as John slid out, placed his hands on the controls and screwed up his face in concentration.

"Eyes open, McKay!'

"Yes, right, open now!"

The HUD began to superimpose a tracery of fine lines over the landscape before them, shading areas in a multitude of different colours.

"What's that mean?" asked Ronon.

"Lots of different things," replied Rodney. "Radiation of various types, emissions of radon gas, density, any formations unlikely to be natural etc, etc. More things than could be dreamt of in a humble pilot's philosophy!"

"Yeah, fine, Hamlet, keep your eyes on the road."

Rodney corrected his course, which had veered too close to one of the sheer sides of the valley.

"We don't have to hug the slope and do a visual, either, just sweep along the centre," said Rodney, with satisfaction.

"What are they?" asked Teyla.

Ronon peered at the two small, densely curlicued areas of lines on the HUD and then adjusted his focus to see through to the real landscape. Grey on grey met his eyes and he could see nothing until Rodney homed the Jumper in on the area and he caught a brief glimpse of what looked like two stone cairns, before they passed over. Rodney brought the Jumper round again in a broad arc until the dense clumps of highlighted red were visible again; two heaps of stone, close together, aligned in the direction of the pass. They sat on a gently-sloped area between the stream and the steep rise of the valley wall.

"Hmm... Let me just..." The display changed again and a faint trail could be seen leading away from the objects and into the mountain range. "Some kind of markers!" said Rodney excitedly. "For a path leading off the main route."

"Let's land and take a look, said John. "Take her down, Rodney."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Teyla ran her fingers over the rough, weathered surface. The rock was mottled with patches of coloured lichens and criss-crossed with fissures and cracks in which tiny alpine flowers had made a home.

"I cannot make out any features, Rodney," she said.

"Try looking at them from here," said John, standing a little way off. He squinted and turned his head on one side. "I can see eyes. And maybe a nose."

"They're just lumps of rock," said Ronon, casually kicking one.

"They're over ten thousand years old, Conan! Exposed to all the extremes of weather and temperature! How do you think you'd look?" Rodney continued to scrutinise the weathered rocks, muttering, his nose nearly grazing the surface.

Teyla stood, possibly eye-to-eye with one of the statues. They were approximately her height and were separated by a distance about equal to the width of the Jumper. She moved so that she was exactly between them and faced the mountains, where Rodney had said there was a path. She could see nothing, but there was probably a route between two peaks; a steep-sided valley, that looked like it narrowed to a ravine in the distance.

"Definitely Ancient construction," said Rodney, pointing a hand-held scanner at one of the statues. "Very ancient Ancient, I'd say. Pity there's no text visible."

"'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here'? Or maybe, 'Speak, friend and enter!'" said John.

Teyla recognised the Lord of the Rings reference; she had found the sequence in the Mines of Moria most disturbing.

"There is no underground entrance here!" she said.

John looked slightly put out. "I couldn't think of a quote for Shangri-la," he said.

"Is this a mission or a book group?" said Rodney, sharply. "Let's focus here!" He stood up from his crouched investigation, easing his back stiffly. "We need to follow this route, into the mountain range."

John looked up at the cloudless blue sky, shading his eyes, and then at the western peaks, the highest of which were wreathed in light swirls and wisps of grey.

"Weather looks good. Still a few hours of daylight." He clapped his hands together. "Let's go, folks!"

oOo

"Why've you turned the display off?" demanded Rodney.

"I need to concentrate, McKay," replied John, carefully guiding the Jumper along the forbidding ravine. "I couldn't see through all that psychedelia, or whatever you had going on up there."

"Essential data, Sheppard!"

"Essential 'not-crashing', Rodney!"

John ignored Rodney's further protests and was grateful to hear Teyla's calm murmurings, which resulted in silence. Worried about losing the trail, John had decided against flying safely above the range in favour of following the route slowly, close to ground level; a decision he was regretting, as the sides of the cut narrowed and became nearly vertical, winding first one way and then the other, very gradually gaining in height. John blinked and rubbed his forehead. A canteen of water appeared in front of him; he took it and drank, muttering his thanks. A particularly sharp, narrow turn made his heart beat faster and he felt the muscles at the back of his neck tighten painfully; he'd end up with a migraine if he couldn't relax a bit soon, but there must only have been a couple of feet clearance on that one and he had to keep focussed.

Then the ground rose sharply and the Jumper emerged into a more open area. John surveyed the base of the canyon, hoping for a ledge or some kind of level area where he could land, but there was nothing. The ground was a contortion of jagged edges, precipices and slopes of treacherous, dry scree; nowhere to land and not a fun hiking route. There would have to be something well worth investigating soon, or he'd be calling the mission off.

"I'm gonna bring up your display here, where there's a bit more space, McKay. You can check out your readings."

John called up Rodney's sensor settings and once more the HUD became flooded with colour.

"The base of the canyon's marked with naquadah compounds, said Rodney. "So at least we're still on track."

"There weren't any turn-offs, McKay. Of course we're still on track."

"Yes, well, it's good to see that verified, anyway! And look, here the ravine splits and goes off in two directions; we need to take the northerly one."

The trail continued to climb and narrowed again; John reduced the HUD display once more, retaining just the search for the traces of Ancient building materials. Then there was a sudden turn into a notch in the side of the canyon, leading south west and John couldn't possibly take the Jumper into it. He pulled it into a steep ascent, and as they topped the rise he saw a sharp mountain peak, a few clicks distant, a ragged streak of cloud curling over its summit indicating fierce high-altitude wind-speed. John angled the Jumper to take in the terrain below; the display indicated the trail as a narrow, intermittent red line, crossing rifts and crevasses and sometimes disappearing altogether. John moved the Jumper forward slowly and hovered over an area where there was no trace of red.

"That look like an impact crater to you?"

"Yes," said Rodney. "Not a very big one in the grand scheme of craters, but, yes." He sounded depressed, as if he could see another potential ZPM slipping through his fingers. Either that or a large crater with a cartoon sign at the bottom saying 'RIP ZPM'.

The sky had clouded over, as if to match Rodney's mood. John picked up the trail and carried on, the flying easier, at least, even if the landscape was as cut and broken as if it had been smashed by giant hammers. He felt a looming presence at his shoulder and glanced up to see Ronon, glaring at the peak ahead of them, accusingly.

"What?"

"Looks funny."

"Funny in what way?" said Rodney. "Oh!"

At the exact moment of Rodney's exclamation, the sun, lowering in the sky behind the mountain dipped beneath the cloud base and its rays struck the jagged peak and were refracted about the landscape in a myriad of bright, rainbow splinters of light.

"There it is!" said Rodney.

"What? I don't see..." John looked again at the peak and it was as if he suddenly saw through an illusion. The eastern side of the mountain rose, rugged and grey, the random cruelty of nature in its lines; but the other side, the western side, glowed with more than the light of the failing day. Cliffs seemed to resolve themselves into walls, rocky spires became ruined towers and at the very top, were the great, broken shards of some transparent material that had split the light to send pinks and golds dancing on the weathered verdigris of a complex so ancient that it had become part of the mountain itself.

oOo

Rodney stirred his MRE with his spork, bad temperedly, if it were possible to stir something bad-temperedly; with a spork, of all things. And, as far as Rodney was concerned it was entirely possible, natural and inevitable.

"I still don't see why we couldn't just go back to the Helg," he said.

John stopped eating, left his spork in the MRE pouch (_Who named these things, anyway?_ Rodney thought._ Spork. Ridiculous!) _and rubbed his face, tiredly. _And he's not the one who was straining his eyes over reams of data for hours on end!_

"We've been through this, McKay. That climb," John waved through the Jumper wall toward the mountain, "is gonna be tough! We need to be on the move at first light, get up there, see what's what and, if we have to, get back down again. You're lucky we're not hiking from the start of the path." John picked up his spork and resumed his meal, as if signalling, 'end of discussion.' Rodney carried on eating too, hungry enough to comply with John's non-verbal signal.

He had some kind of chicken stew, its taste comfortingly bland; and he thought there was some cake left, so things weren't all bad, even though they'd be sleeping on the floor of the Jumper tonight. The wind roared against the sides of the ship, gusting fiercely even down into the base of the crater where they'd landed. John had taken the Jumper up and circled around the peak in which the Ancient facility, outpost, (maybe even palace), appeared to be embedded, and Rodney had been encouraged by some faint energy readings; perhaps a ZPM lurked in the depths of the mountain, like the Arkenstone in Smaug's lair. But there had been no safe landing place anywhere nearer than the blasted rocky slopes several kilometres away, the bowl of one of the craters proving big enough for the Jumper and giving some protection against the elements.

"Be good to get out there, get moving," Ronon rumbled. "Sick of being cooped up in here."

"I, too, will be glad of the exercise," Teyla agreed. "And the fresh air," she added, looking at nobody in particular, Rodney hoped.

"It'll be tough," John reiterated. "And we'll be carrying all our gear; tents, food, enough for a few days."

"I don't see why you all look at me!" Rodney said, noticing three pairs of eyes giving him uneasy glances. "I'm in peak physical condition, I'll have you know!" The eyes looked away, back to their meals. "I hope there aren't any of those grenza about, though." He recalled, with a shudder, his experience the previous winter: the towering black shape that had loomed over him, claws glinting in the moonlight and its dreadful, primeval cry. It had taken a rocket-launcher to finish the thing.

"They'll be out there," said Ronon, with a certain air of grim satisfaction that Rodney thought totally unnecessary.

"We'll have to stay alert," said John. "So, we'll need a good night's sleep."

oOo

Teyla rolled up her sleeping bag tightly and forced it into her bulging pack. Her eyes felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish and she hoped some fresh air would clear her head. Nobody had slept well. The wind had blown fiercely all night, whistling and shrieking around the crater so that it was easy to imagine the ship being surrounded by a pack of grenza, their claws scraping away at the hull. At one point, Teyla had felt the ship rocking and had jerked awake to thoughts of attack. John had struggled his way out of his sleeping bag and altered the settings on the inertial dampeners, muttering about the strength of the wind, and Teyla had drifted back into a fitful doze. When cheerless grey light had begun to filter into the Jumper, they had dismally consumed cold MREs, still wrapped in their sleeping bags, and then begun to prepare for their journey.

The hatch opened and Teyla felt her muscles tighten against the shock of the cold air. The wind had dropped from storm force to merely blustery, but it still seemed to work its way into her clothes, making her shiver. She shouldered her pack, checked her P90, clipped it on; she was ready. They trooped down the ramp and John closed the hatch, his face set, revealing no misgivings, military procedure taking over. Ronon looked eager, Rodney miserable.

"'Kay, Teyla on point, Ronon, six," John directed, laconically. "Take your time," he said to Teyla. "Find the best route." He looked round at all three of his teammates. "This is gonna be tough. We take regular breaks. If you need to stop, say so." He paused. "Move out."

As she crested the lip of the crater, Teyla felt the wind push at her body and strands of hair whipped around her face. The sky was the uniform grey-white of a thin, but complete cloud cover, the peak above them featureless and dull, its towers and walls merging into the surrounding rock. Teyla scanned the uneven ground before her, noting areas that were probably firm, patches of loose scree to avoid, and hidden dips where there might be deep crevasses. She set forward, her boots crunching on the gritty surface, and heard her companions follow her, their varying treads and the bluster of wind in her ears the only sounds in the bleak, blasted landscape.

oOo

"It's gonna be tough," John had said. And then he'd said it again. And then, before they'd set off, just in case it hadn't sunk in, he'd repeated his gloomy prediction. _And he'd been right, damn him,_ thought Rodney, trying to suppress a whimper of sheer misery.

At first, he'd been cold, right down to his bones, the chill wind finding its way into every chink, and freezing fingers and toes, numbing the tip of his nose and making it run continually. Now, though, the cloud had cleared, and the sun scorched down, doing its best to burn his skin from above and blind him from below, its glare reflecting off the bare rock. His sun-screen mixed with his sweat to drip off his forehead and sting his eyes; he'd have to stop and reapply it again in a minute.

The extremes of temperature weren't the worst thing, though, nor even the distance they had to travel, or the occasional full-on, hands and feet climbing involved. It was the total lack of any even walking surface that was so draining, never more than two or three safe strides together where the footing was sure and he could get into an easy rhythm. The surface consisted of broken, shifting rock, where sometimes he had to jump from point to point, watching carefully where Teyla, or, as they swapped pretty often, Ronon had trodden. There were rifts of various widths, which, so far, they'd been able to step or jump over, sometimes narrow ridges, where a step either side would lead to disaster and almost certainly serious injury, but above all, the continual, relentless, two hops up, one jump down, over cruelly sharp, unfriendly jags, like the mountain had bared its teeth to warn travellers away. Or, thought Rodney, less poetically but more scientifically (although, geology was just a small subset of the more important sciences), forces acting on the rock had split and deformed the strata to varying angles of between zero and forty-five degrees from the vertical, instead of just, please God, just leaving it the hell alone so that he could walk in a straight line, for the love of...

"You okay, Rodney?"

Rodney looked up from his head-down, hands-on-knees, gasping-for-breath position. John leant over him, and Rodney saw his own red-faced exhaustion reflected in John's shades. Without waiting for a reply, John called, "Take five!" and Rodney, with relief, lowered himself to the ground, struggling even to find a sufficiently butt-friendly spot to sit on so that he could rest. He felt his pack being lifted off his shoulders and heard its heavy thump as it landed on the ground. Then a canteen of water and a power bar appeared before him. He drank. He ate. He looked up, and was surprised by the distance they had come and the height they had gained.

Ronon was standing at the edge of a precipice, strong and brooding, his hair highlighted gold against the pure blue sky, looking down over the unfriendly landscape, like an ancient warrior king surveying his domain. Rodney thought, enviously, that Ronon could probably climb all day and still be in fighting form at the end. Teyla sat, relaxed, tipping a stone out of her boot, the sheen of sweat on her skin giving her a natural, healthy glow; whereas Ronon fought against the landscape, as if it were an invigorating challenge, Teyla always appeared able to work alongside nature, finding the rhythm of the terrain and fitting herself in as part of a pattern that only she could see.

Rodney turned to John, who was sitting next to him, wriggling, as if he, too, had struggled to find a remotely comfortable perch. He'd taken off his shades and was wiping the sweat off his face and neck with a handkerchief. His cheeks looked slightly windburned and his hair drooped.

"Caradhras the Cruel?" John said, jerking his head in the direction of the peak looming above them.

"Huh, yes," agreed Rodney. "But at least it's not snowing."

Rodney broke out another power bar and offered one to John, who took it. Wrappers crinkled, bars were munched.

"I tell you what I didn't like about the Lord of the Rings, the book, that is," said John. "Moments like this, when they were just trying to have a break, someone'd always kick off with a song or poem, usually about elves you'd never heard of. I mean, who cares, right?"

"I forced myself to read them, as an exercise in mental discipline," said Rodney. John laughed. "So, we can agree a ban on morale-boosting recitations, then?"

"My sidearm's right here, if anyone gets the urge," said John, patting his thigh holster.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

John looked back at the distance he and his team had travelled, and then up at the way they had yet to go. They had done well, in that their progress has been steady and nobody had picked up any injuries, but although the sun was still high in the sky, John decided they would almost certainly be spending the night high on the mountain; inside the shelter of the Ancient buildings, ideally, because they'd be in trouble if the wind picked up again and they were out in the open.

"You getting anything, McKay?"

Rodney sat, his laptop on his knees, tapping and studying with his usual intense concentration. He closed the laptop abruptly, with a snap, and sat up.

"That's a firm 'no'," he said. "I think we should take a route round to the west before we climb any higher. See if we can pick up traces of the path or maybe a low level entrance."

"There're still energy readings, though, right?"

"Yes, yes, same as before. Don't worry, that was no glitch. There's definitely something in this pile of rock."

"Glad to hear it," said John, dryly. "Teyla, find us a safe traverse. We'll stop every fifteen and Rodney can check for traces of the path."

They set off, picking their way around the ever-increasing patches of scree; several times Teyla pointed out boulders that she thought looked unstable and they moved carefully round them. John noticed that Ronon was lagging behind, studying the rocks closely and occasionally picking up a piece of loose stone, turning it over in his hands and then throwing it away.

"What's up, big guy?"

Ronon held out the piece of rock he'd been studying. John took it and turned it over. On one side were patches of blue and yellow lichen; the other side was smooth and blank. John raised an eyebrow.

"What am I looking for?"

"It was this way," said Ronon, taking the stone and turning it blank side up.

"And?"

Ronon shrugged. "Must've moved recently.

"Yeah, so? I'm kicking bits of rock all the time. Teyla and Rodney, too."

"These weren't on the path."

"So, you're saying something else moved them? Grenza?"

"No. Too many of them. It's not a trail; they're everywhere."

"So..."

Ronon shrugged again. "Dunno. Just seems wrong."

"Oh."

They continued, but John felt his senses kick into a higher state of alertness. He trusted his team; trusted each of them with all their lives; and, on many occasions, with the lives of others. If Ronon's instincts were sparking, even over something as seemingly innocuous as a few stones, then it meant he should pay attention. They rounded a curve of the mountain, to find Rodney setting down his pack to take out his laptop. John was about to get out his canteen and take a drink, and had begun to wonder where they might find a source of water, when he felt his boots slip beneath him slightly. He shifted his position, thinking he'd just stood on an uneven rock, but then the ground definitely moved, a shuddering tremble lasting a couple of seconds.

Then suddenly he was in the midst of chaos; a blur of small, gray-brown shapes burst out from beneath a rocky overhang and hurtled in amongst them, the ground began to shake violently and John saw loose rocks dancing, felt his feet lurch, and flailed his arms to try to keep his balance. Falling helplessly backward, his eyes full of the blue sky, he saw something erupt from the mountain peak, streak high into the atmosphere and then fly apart like a firework, sending out a starburst of tiny shapes in all directions. They shot, staggeringly far and fast, away to all points of the compass and disappeared out of sight. John landed hard and skidded, bumped and rolled down the slope, the jagged surface hurting, but saving him from a much longer fall. His bouncing progress was halted as he came up hard against a boulder; he felt the tremors subside and slowly fade away.

oOo

Teyla had been bowled over by a fleeing mountain creature; it had run, full-tilt, into her legs and she had landed on her hands and knees. Which meant that, when the ground began to shake, she simply knelt further down and put her arms over her head. She felt some impacts through the pack on her back and was grateful for its protection. She heard Rodney cry out amid the rumbling and clashing of rocks, but could do nothing but wait. The ground stopped shaking and the skittering and bouncing of loose stone tailed off. Teyla sat up, slowly, coughing in the dusty air, noticing some bleeding cuts on her arms, which seemed, thankfully, minor. Another shape was uncurling nearby and Teyla blinked, trying to clear her streaming eyes of dust and grit.

"Rodney?"

"'S me."

"Ronon. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Think so. Coupla rocks hit me. Where're McKay and Sheppard?"

A muffled voice came from beneath a heap of grey rock, then the rock shifted and revealed itself to be Rodney and his pack, covered in dust and rock chips.

"I stuck my head in my..." He paused and sneezed loudly. "In my pack. For protection." he began brushing his clothes down and sneezed again at the clouds of dust he'd raised. "Where's Sheppard?"

Teyla heard a scuffing, scrabbling sound from the slope below and a tangle of muttered curses. A hand reached up, searching for a firm hold and Ronon swiftly strode to the edge, grasped the hand and pulled. John regained the safety of the ledge in undignified style, his legs sliding out from under him on the treacherous surface so that he would have landed in a heap if Ronon hadn't grasped his tac vest and set him on his feet.

"Thanks, Chewie," John said breathing hard. He too was covered in rock dust and chips. Blood had mixed with the dust on one side of his face and he turned his hands, palms up and regarded them with a wince. "Everyone okay?" he asked.

"What the hell was that?" Rodney demanded. "I've had no indication of any seismic activity in the area, so that shouldn't have happened! Couldn't have happened!" He began pulling his laptop out of his bag. "I need to check..."

"Rodney!" John interrupted.

"What?"

"Let's just take a minute, okay?" John eased himself down to sit on the ground and slid off his pack. Teyla took hers off too, and moved closer to the rest of her team, sitting cross-legged next to Rodney. "Injuries?" asked John.

"A few small cuts," Teyla said, holding out her arms.

"Just some bruises," said Ronon.

"Ronon, there is blood on your neck," Teyla pointed out.

"Oh. Yeah," said Ronon, probing his head. "Rock musta hit me."

"We'll check that out in a minute," said John. "Rodney?"

"I think some of those sheep-things ran over me," he said. "I've probably got hoof marks everywhere!"

"What about you, John?" Teyla asked.

John shrugged and grimaced. "Just a bit banged-up, I guess." Teyla glared at him.

"Please do not hide any injuries, John. I will find out!"

"Nothing major, honest, Teyla. My pack protected me a bit. See?" he angled his pack so that she could see where some of the outer layer of fabric had torn. "We'll check weapons first; make sure all this dust isn't gonna be a problem. Then first aid."

"Then can we do the, 'What the hell was that?'" said Rodney.

John pushed his pack over to give himself a horizontal surface to work on, and began to field strip his P90. Teyla copied. She noticed John and Ronan exchange glances. His energy weapon shouldn't be affected by the grit, but he'd wait to check it until they were finished; attack could come at any time.

"That was nothing natural," John said. "I take it none of you were looking at the sky?"

"Head in pack, therefore, no," said Rodney, checking his Beretta.

"What did you see, John?" asked Teyla, sliding out the bolt system of her weapon. it looked dirt-free, and she slid it straight back in again, reluctant to set it down on her dusty pack.

"Some kind of projectile, a rocket, missile," he said, scrutinising the inner workings of his weapon. "Shot straight up a good few thousand feet, then exploded, or deliberately divided maybe, and spread out. Fast, covering a wide area." He slotted the magazine back into place, looking at Rodney.

"From where, the mountain?" Rodney asked.

John nodded. "Seemed that way."

"A defence system, then? Still active. Sounds like the work of a ZPM, to me." Rodney slid his Beretta back in its holster, cheerfully. John and Telya checked their sidearms.

"Sounds dangerous to me," said Ronon. "Could bring the whole mountain down on us."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about that, is there? Not until we get in there and I find out what's going on, turn whatever it is off, and snag us a nice juicy ZPM."

"Will we test-fire, John?" asked Teyla, hesitating over returning her Beretta to its holster.

"No," he replied hesitantly. "We could bring more rock down on us. Or hostiles."

"Hostile sheep," said Rodney, trying to reach round and rub his back.

"Grenza," said Ronon. "They'll be around, if that's what they eat."

"That is why they invaded the lowlands last winter," said Teyla, bringing out her first aid kit. "Councillor Smeadon's men had killed large numbers of their prey." She recalled the cave full of the butchered carcasses of the creatures, and the long, frightening journey in the dark that had followed.

Teyla found and cleaned the cut on Ronon's head and he cleaned the cuts on her arms and put band-aids on them. She liked band-aids; so simple and effective. She realised John and Rodney were arguing, John holding his hands up out of Rodney's reach.

"They're fine, they're clean now, leave them alone!"

Teyla noticed that Rodney had cleaned the scrapes on the side of John's face, which looked quite shallow. She swiped the roll of bandage out of Rodney's hands.

"Rodney, please check the readings on your laptop! John, sit!"

He sat. She examined the cuts on his palms and picked out one or two bits of embedded grit that Rodney had missed.

"They don't need bandaging, do they? They're not bad."

"On Atlantis, where it is clean, and you can wash regularly, no. Here, were everything is dirty and we have little water, yes. You do not want them to become infected."

John grumbled, as she began carefully wrapping, leaving his fingers free.

"I just didn't want to be mummified from fingertip to elbow," he muttered, under his breath. Teyla didn't reply, knowing John was probably right about Rodney's over-enthusiastic first-aid skills, but too diplomatic to agree.

"I'm getting some readings," said Rodney. "I think we'll hit the path if we keep going round."

"Right, let's move out. We've lost enough time," said John.

oOo

Rodney felt energized, despite his arduous hike and the small, hoof-shaped bruises he could feel developing on his back. They had actual proof that there was still a working power source somewhere in the mountain, and, having found the route of the ancient path, he felt he was hot on the trail. The trail itself was still awkward and jagged, covered with loose rock, but in amongst the natural rock-fall he had glimpsed, just once or twice, the unmistakable appearance of Ancient masonry.

The naquadah traces showed that the path zig-zagged back and forth across the north-west face of the mountain; sometimes it was the best route to take, sometimes the deformation and erosion of the land in ten thousand years and more meant that they had to take a different route. Either way, it was steep and Rodney plodded, head down, hoping they'd come to some kind of entrance soon.

"Sheppard." Ronon, who was leading, had stopped. Their route had led them to a shoulder of rock that jutted vertically in their path. There was no obvious route either above or below and just a narrow ledge that ran around the bluff and out of sight. "Climb round?" asked Ronon, neutrally. Rodney shuddered and gulped, edging away from the precipitous drop. John studied the terrain.

"It would take us a long time to double back to find another route," said Teyla.

"Yeah," said John. He made his way over to the section of cliff where the path had fallen away, and stood, scrutinising the total lack of any sensible route, his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes narrowed.

_Great, _thought Rodney. _Fantastic. _

And, right on cue, John said, "I think it's doable. We'll use ropes."

Ronon went first with a rope around his waist, a quirk of one eyebrow and a twitch of his lips.

_Unbelievable, _thought Rodney, helping to pay out the rope. Ronon moved easily along the six-inch ledge, finding handholds and looking totally relaxed about the whole thing. He quickly reached the point of the bluff, disappeared round and almost immediately called back.

"Hey! There's a shaft. Shall I go in?"

"A shaft?" John shouted back. "How big? Can you see in?"

"Sounds dangerous," said Rodney.

"Big enough," said Ronon. "I can't see in far. Slopes down."

"Can you see further round?"

"Yeah. It's easier soon," Ronon replied.

"Keep going. I'll check out the shaft," said John.

"You're not just going to dive headfirst into a hole and hope for the best, are you?" Rodney asked, with alarm.

"I said check out, McKay, not dive in," said John. "Anyway, you're going next."

"Okay," said Rodney, hearing his small, trembling voice and clearing his throat to cover it up.

"You'll be fine, Rodney. You heard Ronon. It's not far."

"That way's far!" replied Rodney, pointing straight down. "And that's what counts in terms of gravitational field strength and impact velocity and just plain... impact!"

"Rodney," said Teyla, placing her hands on his shoulders as John looped the rope round his waist. "You are strong. You can do this."

"Okay," he squeaked. "But if I don't get a fully-charged ZPM out of this mission, then there's no justice in this world or any other. And there usually isn't," he added, miserably.

Rodney made his cautious way to the broad section of the ledge and, gritting his teeth and trying to control his breathing, he began to edge out, checking that each foot and hand hold was steady before shifting his weight. He felt the rope secure around his waist, pulling him closer to the cliff. He tried to avoid any thoughts of the drop beneath him and focussed just on his slow shuffle, one foot, one hand, the other foot, the other hand.

"Good job, McKay," called John.

Rodney slid round the end of the bluff. His hands encountered a straight ledge, just above head height, which he guessed was the window or shaft that Ronon wanted to explore. Rodney ignored it and carried on, and, as he moved further round the curve, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and risked a fleeting glance toward Ronon and safety; and nearly lost his footing altogether. He froze, astonished, and, if he hadn't been at an unthinkable height above cruel, jagged rocks, clinging to life itself with fingers and toes, he would have also been delighted. The weathered turquoise of Ancient walls stretched in broken serried ranks above the platform where Ronon stood; walls like cliffs, studded with windows and the remains of balconies, towers nearly intact and great vertical gouges where towers had fallen, blind curves of collapsed flying buttresses, cracked domes open to the sky like great, shattered eggshells, and surmounting all, the sunlight shining through the irridescent surfaces, the huge shards of transparent material, pointing like vast rainbow sugar decorations, toward the sky.

"McKay! You stuck?" Ronon called.

"No! No, I'm coming!"

Rodney barely noticed the rest of his climb. He stepped onto the broad platform and vaguely felt Ronon steer him away from the edge and untie his rope. He gazed at the Ancient complex, noting where it met the rock of the mountain toward the eastern side, and, now that he was closer, he could see the outlines of openings in the rock; rows of windows or ventilation shafts and, in one area, at the far eastern edge, a great collapsed arch, which would have caught the light of the rising sun. The place had a desolate beauty after millennia of abandonment; it must have been astounding when inhabited.

"Truly, this must have been a palace," said Teyla, beside him, her voice filled with awe.

"Pretty cool," agreed John.

"Big," commented Ronon.

"It's huge!" said Rodney. "Look, see," he pointed. "It goes right inside the mountain! It could be as big as Atlantis!"

"Could be," John said. "That shaft back there definitely sloped down, so there must be rooms below where we are now."

"Let's look for an entrance!" said Rodney, surging forward. He stopped abruptly and realised John had grabbed the back of his pack.

"Hold up, McKay!" Rodney began to protest, but John continued. "Yes, we're going to check this place out, but there's only an hour or so til sundown, so our priorities are," (he let go of Rodney's pack and looked at the whole team), "a safe place to camp and a source of water. The wind's picking up already, so it's gonna be cold. We need somewhere sheltered and structurally sound. And we need to be careful; the footing's pretty bad and that quake could have left all kinds of things just ready to fall."

John nodded at Teyla and she took the lead, picking her way over the broken masonry, slowly and with great care. Rodney knew John was right, but nevertheless, he seethed with impatience; a whole Ancient complex to explore, probably older than Atlantis, some parts of it clearly retaining power. The exhausting, frightening climb forgotten, Rodney followed Teyla upward, into the magnificent ruins.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was some kind of gatehouse, built half into the side of the mountain, mostly intact; Ronon had slept in much worse places, so he was fine with it. He saw that there was a half-hearted kind of stream too, running down the side of the road, so that was water sorted. Teyla said it must have been beautiful, the stream probably made to run over a series of waterfalls, it and the road running beneath a big arch. The remains of the arch lay on the road, just obstacles to be climbed over as far as Ronon was concerned, but McKay stopped, and brushed away some dirt and pointed at some lettering.

"What's it say?" Ronon asked.

"It just says 'Welcome'," replied Rodney.

"Friendly kinda place, then," said John.

"This is not normal Ancient script," Teyla said. "The letters are unusual shapes."

Ronon, not interested, wandered a little way up the steep road, wondering if there was anything to burn. _A fire'd be good,_ he thought.

"Ha! Yes!" He heard Rodney enthusing. "I think it's the Ancient equivalent of comic sans. A friendly typeface for their welcome sign!"

Ronon turned round. There'd be nothing to burn; too far above the treeline for much to grow. Just the lichens the sheep-things lived off. _We could eat those, _he thought, _the lichens as well as the sheep-things, if we had to._

"A friendly welcome," John said, thoughtfully. "Isn't that a bit... weird? I mean, thinking about Helia and her crew."

"Yes, well, they may have been a standoffish bunch, but they'd come straight from the war with the Wraith. This place, I think, was built in more innocent times."

"Well, whatever the standard of luxury used to be, here in Ancient Disneyworld, we have canteens to fill and a camp to set up," said John.

Ronon strode back down the road, now in shadow, and losing the day's warmth fast. He'd unconsciously been scanning the area for signs of grenza, and had seen some probable claw-marks, but they were old; nothing that made his senses twitch. Water, food, shelter; the words ran through his head, and he was glad, as he had been so many times now, that these concerns were not his to bear alone.

oOo

The wind had risen; it whistled and shrieked and howled through the broken ruins so that Teyla could almost believe that the inhabitants had returned as vengeful spirits, intent on making their presence, and their displeasure, known. Occasionally Teyla heard, and actually felt in her chest, a deep, reverberant tone, sonorous and dark, and she guessed it was the remains of the great, broken, metallic dome, not far above their gatehouse, ringing out in the gale.

They had erected their two tents, although the roof of the little building was mostly intact, cut, as it was, partly into the bedrock of the slope. They would need the extra protection of the tents, and Teyla was glad of her meal, heated by one of the strange packets, which just required a sprinkling of water to cause the chemicals within to begin warming. Very convenient, especially where there was no firewood, and even where there was fuel, one did not always want to give away one's position by producing smoke. Surely the packets were wasteful of resources, though? Teyla frowned, but still enjoyed the taste and the warmth of her beef stew.

She looked up at her teammates, each perched on a chunk of masonry, trying to eat their meals by flashlight, except Ronon, who seemed to be able to manage just as well in the dark. Rodney had finished his entrée and was squinting at a small packet.

"I can't tell whether this is some kind of drinks powder, or I've just totally crushed my crackers."

Ronon reached over and stuck his finger in the packet and then in his mouth.

"Strawberry milkshake," he said.

"Oh, thank you so much, Conan, for that additional 'essence of caveman'. That's just what it needed!"

Teyla smiled and then looked at John, expecting him to join in the usual back and forth of mildly irritated squabbling, which seemed to constitute a large part of the team's bonding. He didn't seem to be listening, though; he had stopped eating and was staring blankly at the ground. Teyla shuffled her stone block closer to his. She trained her flashlight on one of the small packets of her MRE: Skittles, their jarringly bright colours and intense sweetness obviously not beneficial, but, nevertheless, a guilty pleasure. She opened them, and held the packet out to John, illuminating it with her flashlight. He was still lost in thought, so she nudged him, gently, with her elbow.

"John?"

"Oh. Teyla. Er... No, thanks, I'm still on the... erm, whatever this is. Macaroni, I think."

Teyla took one of the purple Skittles, which were her favourites. She popped it into her mouth and the almost shocking sweetness and artificial fruit flavour exploded on her tongue.

"You are deep in thought, John. What about?"

"Uh, well... I was just wondering..." He paused and stirred his meal a few times. Teyla waited. "I was wondering if they'd been culled yet," he said quietly.

Teyla sighed and took another Skittle. A green one. She knew that John was referring to the people they had met on their last mission, the dreadful mission that had left them all traumatised and on the verge of starvation.

"We all wonder about that," she said, sadly. "It is very probable that they have."

"Yeah, I think so too." He began eating again, half-heartedly.

"Some will survive, John. Some will have escaped off-world."

"Yeah, and they'll have left some," he said bitterly. "As breeding stock. Like animals."

"So it has always been," Teyla replied, softly. "For as long as anyone can remember."

They were silent for a moment. Between the howling gusts of wind, Teyla could hear Rodney trying to persuade Ronon to swap his marble cake for Rodney's vanilla.

"But not when this place was built, though," said John, taking out his pack of crackers. "What do you think it was?" Teyla held the flashlight while he squeezed something onto them; cheese spread, or peanut butter, she couldn't tell.

"I think perhaps it was a place of pilgrimage," Teyla said.

John made a questioning noise, his mouth full of cracker.

"The route from the lower lands is long, and must have been walked," she said. "Perhaps it was meant to encourage spiritual contemplation before arrival at the sanctuary."

"So they'd get here and then ascend? Maybe. I'm going with holiday resort. We'll find a spa, maybe a nightclub." He bit into another cracker.

Teyla finished her Skittles and tidied away her empty packaging, wondering what they would find in this mysterious place on its faraway peak. And, flinching at the sudden screech of the wind through a gap in the stonework, she wondered what the night would bring.

oOo

Rodney took the first watch, which was actually the best one, because then he'd have the rest of the night for sweet, unbroken, dreamless sleep, he thought, listening to the shrieking gale and watching as the tents shivered and shook around their occupants. _Yeah, right._

He put his head out of the door, caught a furious blast of freezing cold air in his face and then rapidly withdrew. His legs ached from the climb; in fact most of him ached from the climb and he'd probably be stiff as a board in the morning. He wanted to sit down, but knew he'd probably fall asleep, even sitting on one of the uncomfortable stone blocks. He checked his watch again; another hour to go, then he could wake Teyla. The shrieking of the wind rose higher and for a heart-freezing second he thought he heard the eerie cry of a grenza mixed with the shrieks. He stood, motionless, listening hard, trying to pick out threads of sound. Should he wake Sheppard? No, he must have imagined it; it was surely just the wind.

Rodney barely moved for the rest of his watch, his senses on full alert, and so when he woke Teyla and crawled into the tent he shared with John, he fell, exhausted, into dreamless sleep.

oOo

Teyla had felt Rodney's disquiet and knew he had been disturbed by something, even though he'd responded that it was 'just the wind,' when she had asked. Just the wind it may well have been, but most people's instincts were more reliable than they knew, especially in the dark of an unfamiliar night; thousands of years of evolution had seen to that, in her galaxy as well as Rodney's. She stood and listened and tried to tune into her environment, hearing the multi-toned breath of the wind, feeling its sudden variations, from a light tickle to a fierce, scouring rush. She put her hands on the stone wall and, through her fingers, felt not only its vibrations, but its resilience and its long, long history. There was nothing that jarred her senses; just the dark and the cold and the wind.

Teyla turned on her flashlight and watched the beam as it bobbed around the interior of the building; it was a square, boxlike structure, that had probably had another room, stepped down the steep slope. The doorway opened out into an area that would have been beneath the broad arch. She wondered who had worked in this little space. Had they lived here too? Had they welcomed weary pilgrims, or had they taken or sold tickets and organised bookings for activities? Perhaps they had snapped their fingers to call a guide to take visitors to their accommodation.

The sound of rock clattering on rock, brought Teyla's thoughts swiftly back to the present. It came again, and she tried to judge the direction and proximity of the sound. She turned to face the doorway, and, in the faint light of the newly-risen moon, she could see the ruined archway amid heaps of loose stone and the low remains of walls. Nothing moved. Then there was a scrape, from behind her and she spun and the beam of her flashlight bounced wildly around the room, falling only on the tents, the bare floor, the blank stone walls. Teyla moved further into the room and stood, listening, straining her senses, hearing only the relentless gusts of wind.

oOo

Noises in the night; howling, shrieking, rock on rock, claw on stone. Ronon stood, outside the gatehouse, against the wall, in the deep shadow cast by the moon, sentry-like, still, silent, alert, his blaster ready in his hand. _Come, _he thought, _Come if you want. I'm ready. _But nothing came.

oOo

John took one hand away from his P90 to rub the stubble on his jaw; if they could get a better campsite organised tonight, maybe he'd shave. Or maybe not. He shifted, hearing the crunch and scrape of loose chips under his boots. The wind had dropped, as seemed to be its normal pattern round here. Normal patterns were good to know; things you could plan for, rely on.

The sky was definitely lighter now; faintly grey, so maybe the total cloud cover they'd had yesterday morning was another normal pattern. John imagined taking a Jumper up and breaking through the cloud and out into the sunshine. That was one of the best bits of flying; get high enough and the weather's always good. That was probably a metaphor for life, or something, but John was more interested in having a quick scout up the road, now that it was just light enough to see any obstacles.

It was steep and rough, and in places water ran over the surface before it joined and ran down the channel at the side of the road. John felt his stiff muscles stretching as he moved and the bruises from his fall the day before protesting. He took one hand at a time off his P90 and wiggled his fingers, testing the flexibility of his scraped hands, but never taking his eyes off his surroundings. He stopped and looked up at the great building with its huge shattered dome and the sloping expanse of broken rock between him and it; what had this area been? Terracing, of some kind he thought, tracing the faint suggestion of regular layers in the chaos. Maybe pools and the water running down from one terrace to the next, some trees for shade. John vaguely remembered playing in a garden like that, a long time ago. His family had been visiting someone important and he'd been told to be on his best behaviour. Discovering their garden of terraces and waterfalls, he'd gone on a climbing expedition; it hadn't ended well.

A movement, just a vague flicker in the corner of his eye had him spinning round, weapon ready. All was still and silent. John stepped forward, his eyes, matched by the muzzle of his gun, moving from side to side, intently focussed, missing nothing. There was a dark entrance, partly fallen, cut into the rock of the mountain. John stopped, to one side of the black opening and listened; silence. He was about to turn when a breath of air brought to him a faint scent of sweet-sour corruption; just a fleeting, unpleasant tang and then it was gone and the pure mountain air blew gently in his face and ruffled his hair. John backed away, flicking quick glances left, right, over his shoulder, wishing he had someone watching his six. They wouldn't split up, he thought. At least two together, all the time. Just in case.

oOo

Rodney would not quite have described himself as 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' in the cold of the grey morning, his ZPM-hunting zeal not totally over-riding the aches and pains resulting from the climb and the sheep-trampling of the previous day. However, having rapidly wolfed his breakfast (so rapidly, in fact, that, not only could he not recall what he'd eaten, but he'd also given himself hiccups), he was most certainly raring to go. The tent was stowed away, his pack was, well, packed and he stood outside the gatehouse, open laptop in the crook of one arm, nearly bouncing off what remained of the walls with impatience. He watched John, Ronon and Teyla emerge from the doorway, painfully slowly, it seemed to Rodney, and shoulder their packs (ponderously).

"So!" (hic). "Eminent physicist, check!" (hic). "Energy readings, check!" (hic). "Put the two together, and what do you get?" (hic).

"Indigestion, apparently," said John.

"Chuh!" (hic)

"Seriously, Rodney, calm down!" John said, annoyingly.

Teyla held out her canteen and Rodney sipped, inhaling water and choking through his hiccups, while John did his usual 'danger, danger, everywhere' alarmist speech.

"McKay!"

Rodney jumped. "Yes?"

"Are you listening?"

Rodney gave a nervous half-smile, shrinking slightly under John's narrow-eyed glare. "Um... yes?"

John sighed, heavily. "I said we stay together - no splitting up. And we stay alert. I reckon something's made a home for itself somewhere around here, and that something may well be a grenza. Maybe more than one."

"Oh." Rodney gulped.

"Yes, oh," John said, pointedly. "And that's apart from the danger of falling buildings. We go slow. No rushing ahead. Got it?"

Rodney nodded.

"Okay." John addressed Ronon and Teyla. "We centre on McKay, so he can follow the energy readings. I'm at two, Teyla ten, Ronon six. Let's go."

Rodney moved, at the centre of the triangle, feeling protected but irritatingly restricted. Sheppard was tense and serious and Ronon and Teyla seemed affected by his mood. Yes, grenza were a serious threat, but, hello? Ancient city, temple, leisure complex here! Potential ZPM! Even the thought of grenza couldn't suppress Rodney's excitement.

They came to the open area at the top of the road, its crumbled surface like a face of an ancient stepped pyramid, the terraces nearly worn away by time. Rodney slid his laptop back into his pack to leave his hands free, and they struggled up the slope where it bordered a wall. John insisted on having at least one of the team stationary, weapon at the ready, as the others moved, and so they proceeded in a kind of pincer movement, slowly making their way towards the roofless portico of the domed building. There had been six vast columns fronting the portico, one of which still stood, while the others were reduced to truncated stubs, cut off near the ground. On the wall behind them, some smooth patches of turquoise facing still adhered, but the ground was littered with shattered fragments of the same colour. A trickle of water ran out of the wide doorway and, as Rodney followed John and Teyla inside, he saw that it came from a round pool in the centre of the huge room. The pool was overflowing with water, and a trail of green algae streamed out across the floor, following the path of the overspill. The space was shadowy, the early morning light not yet high enough to send beams down through the broken dome. Rodney's foot slipped on the wet floor and the thudding slap as his other boot landed hard fluttered around the hall like a retreating bird, slowly dissipating in the strange acoustic.

"Where's the water coming from?" asked Ronon, his voice booming as he looked down into the brimming pool.

"Perhaps a natural spring," Teyla speculated.

Rodney took out his laptop again and checked the direction of the energy readings.

"We need to go that way," he said, pointing roughly east. "I'm guessing we'll be heading into the areas cut into the mountain. Maybe a couple of levels lower." He looked up. Broad, high-arched hallways led to the east and west and, to the south, opposite the entrance, was another opening which led to a crumbled flight of stairs and row upon row of buildings, or their remains, which climbed the slope of the mountain.

"C'mon, then," said John, turning toward the eastern corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The walking was pretty easy, which was lucky for McKay, who had his eyes on his computer more than where he was putting his feet, Ronon noticed. The floor was pretty level, though strewn with loose stone, shallow pools of water here and there and, where the walls had fallen, or maybe where the way had always led outside through gardens, lichens and mosses had found a foothold. They'd passed rooms big and small, ruined and intact, a hall with a series of depressions, which McKay thought must've been a bathhouse, an area of cubicles that looked like shops. Then they'd walked above a half bowl-shaped area, with a flat piece at the bottom and all agreed it must've been an amphitheatre; there'd been one in Sateda, and Ronon had been to a concert there once. He remembered the summer evening, the music, Melena; but this was no time to be distracted. He tightened his grip on his weapon, turned and scanned the corridor behind them, where he could see all the way back to the big entrance hall, a shaft of bright light now spearing through the hole in the dome.

Sheppard spoke. "How're we looking, McKay?"

"Getting warmer. We should keep going this way."

They carried on, passing a room that jutted out over the slope, its walls intact, an archway at the far end framing a view of the mountain range. The cloud had gone, the sky blue once more. A warm breeze blew through the arch, but it was cool within the ruins; cool, silent and broken, and Ronon thought again of Sateda, shattered Sateda, that had once been his home.

"Flashlights on, folks!" announced John.

oOo

Teyla flicked on the light on her P90. They had reached the area where the hallway tunnelled into the bedrock of the mountain. Looking ahead into the darkness, there seemed to be faint patches of light at sparse intervals, where rooms had windows onto the mountainside, or perhaps where shafts had been cut to allow light and air to circulate. As they walked into the gloom, Teyla played her light over the walls, seeing decorative patterns and even the images of figures and landscapes as they penetrated further into the protected interior of the mountain. She was about to comment on the beauty of the vibrant colours, when her eye was caught for another reason.

"John! Look!" A series of deep parallel lines had been gouged into the surface of the wall.

"Claw marks?" said John.

"Grenza," Ronon agreed.

"Are they recent?"

Teyla touched the marks and then trained her light on the floor, studying the debris.

"I would say not. But it is difficult to tell."

They stood in silence for a moment, as if listening for the rasp of claw on stone, but all that could be heard was the steady, distant drip of water and the hollow moan of the wind in the ventilation shafts.

oOo

"Well, I suppose that answers my question," said Rodney, watching John as he scrubbed his hand through his hair and shook his head, as if he had water in his ears.

"What?"

"That's the fifth time you've done that in as many minutes!"

"So? Something's kinda itchy. Or buzzy. Can you hear anything?"

"No, but I've been detecting more diffuse energy traces around us, so I would say that's your ATA pricking up its ears, wouldn't you?"

"Oh. Huh. Yeah, I guess."

"So, as I was saying, that answers my question, to wit: does this place rely on pre-ATA technology? The answer being, no, or at least, not exclusively."

"Nothing's turning on," said Ronon, bluntly.

"No, because there's nothing here to turn on, is there? Have you seen any light fittings? Any sliding doors that might open with the wave of a hand? No, me neither!"

"So, why can I feel...?" John waved a hand in the air.

"Diffuse energy traces indicating the presence of active power conduits? Well, my guess is, that if we could find a way further into the mountain, behind this wall, here," Rodney slapped the wall to their right, "we'd encounter something that would respond to your magic touch, and mine too, hopefully."

"So, onward, then."

"Onward," Rodney agreed.

Rodney kept his eyes on the energy readings as he walked, watching the fluctuating figures on his glowing screen and registering, with a small part of his mind, the weaving and bobbing of the P90 lights ahead of him and the steady tread of four pairs of boots.

"McKay?"

"Yes? What?"

John, his face faintly lit by the blue light of Rodney's laptop, jerked his P90 toward the wall to their right. There was a doorway, and it had the familiar outline of the doors on Atlantis and a control panel to one side. John waved his hand over it. Nothing happened. Rodney pushed the laptop into John's hands and took the covering off the control panel. It was empty; no crystals.

"Now what?" John said.

"Now we use brute force," said Rodney.

"Oh, really?" said John, his expression one of suppressed eagerness.

"C4?" asked Ronon.

"No, not C4, strangely enough! Think about where we are, Conan!" said Rodney, pointing straight upward. "Millions of tonnes of rock? Ring any bells?"

Ronon growled.

"Let's start with the low-tech approach, shall we?" said John. "Ronon, see if you can jam a knife in there and we'll try and force it."

Rodney left them to it, taking his laptop back from John and sitting down, to assess the likelihood of there being a free flow of power in the rooms behind the door. He wondered if the door led to a private area for scientific study, or, more prosaically, but with possibilities, a maintenance area with a power plant. Rodney ignored the grunting, straining and cursing coming from John and Ronon, but he noticed that Teyla's hands had tightened on her P90 and she was peering back up the shadowy corridor.

"Did you see something?"

"I am not sure," said Teyla.

There was a loud thump and Ronon and John fell suddenly to either side of the doorway.

"Think we broke it?" panted Ronon.

"It's open, anyway," said John, climbing to his feet.

oOo

John raised his P90 and played the beam of light left and right, up and down, revealing glimpses of the smoothly-panelled walls of a corridor straight ahead, doors at intervals to either side, and to his left a stairway, leading down. He stepped forward, and a familiar little tickle in an indefinable corner of his mind heralded a dim yellow glow, emanating from rounded wall lights, which spread until the area before John was fully illuminated, the walls dark red, veined with gold, the floor black and smoothly reflective. There was no hint of ruin or decay, as if this section had been preserved as well as their own lost city.

"Looks like Atlantis," said Ronon.

"Feels like Atlantis," said John. "Kind of."

They moved further into the corridor. The air was cool, but not stale and John thought there must either be ventilation or another entrance.

"We should not leave this door open behind us," said Teyla.

John caught the worry in her voice. "Why? D'you see something?"

"I am not sure. Just a shadow, perhaps."

John shook his head. "There're too many shadows in this place. Can you close it, McKay?"

"Working in it!" Rodney had already taken the casing off the control panel. "Your delicate touch has broken the mechanism, but if you slide the doors together, I think I can lock them in place."

"And get them open again when we want to leave ?" asked Ronon.

"Yes, of course," replied Rodney, irritably.

The door locked behind them, John felt he could be slightly less on his guard, against grenza at least. They were definitely out there, or at least something was; the only doubt John had was when they would attack and with how much force.

"We should head down," said Rodney.

"We'll check out this level first, McKay," said John, and, seeing that Rodney was about to protest, he continued, "I know you want to chase your energy readings, but we don't want to miss anything." _And I want to get a feel for this place, _he added, to himself. "Ronon, you and Rodney take the rooms on the left, me and Teyla'll do the right."

The first room John and Teyla investigated was lined with low benches, hooks and tall cupboards; it looked like a changing room. Rodney and Ronon had discovered the same thing on their side.

"Male and female changing rooms?" asked Teyla.

"For work clothes. Uniforms," Ronon suggested.

"ESD protective gear," said Rodney, hopefully. "Electrostatic discharge!" he continued, seeing blank looks. "For working with delicate equipment!"

"Yeah, maybe," said John, noncommittally.

They moved on. Some of the rooms were empty, with no clues remaining to tell of their use. One was a bathroom, with showers, the plumbing not working, unfortunately. There were a couple of offices, desks and cabinets still in place, too bulky to be worth moving out.

"This is all admin and irrelevant practical stuff!" snapped Rodney. "Can we go down now?"

They had reached the end of the corridor and there was another stairway, so no need to retrace their steps. The floor below was completely different. As John stepped off the bottom stair, more glowing yellow orbs sprang to life, the light spreading like a wave until the whole floor was lit, revealing a large open space with columns supporting the ceiling. The walls were lined with open-fronted cubicles and, in the centre of the room stood a bank of control consoles and display screens suspended from the ceiling.

Rodney hurried forward eagerly and John let him go, merely gesturing Ronon and Teyla forward to check for other exits. John examined the nearest cubicle. It was the size of a generous shower stall, about four feet square and maybe ten high. There were ports of various sizes in the walls, rounded, as if tubes or cables could be plugged directly into them. John turned and surveyed the room, seeing that Rodney had brought the consoles to glowing life and was hooking up his laptop. Ronon had returned to the stairwell and was leaning, with energy-saving nonchalance, against a wall, his position allowing an easy view of the room and the stairs leading up, as well as the flight leading further down. Teyla was also looking curiously at the cubicles.

"Could these be stasis chambers, like those on Atlantis?" she asked.

"Could be," replied John.

He counted the cubicles; fifteen along three sides of the room and thirteen along the entrance side, so that was fifty-eight altogether.

"They each have a control panel," Teyla observed.

"Which nobody will touch!" Rodney's voice rang out. "Especially Colonel Twitchy-fingers!"

"What're we looking at here, McKay?" John asked, approaching the central consoles. Rodney stood in the middle, like a drummer with his kit around him, tapping here and flicking there, his eyes flitting between the Ancient screens and his laptop. He held up one hand in John's direction, a finger raised, and continued tapping with the other hand. John waited.

"Aha!" Rodney burst out triumphantly. He stood up straight. "Altamontaris!" he announced, beaming. "Montarea!"

"Nemifahmam!" John countered, feeling that such a response was merited. "No entiendo!"

This earned John an exasperated, "Chuh!" (His second of the day, he thought, proudly).

"Names!" said Rodney. "The planet is called Montarea, the city is Altamontaris! And, as it turns out, we were all correct; it's referred to as a place of both leisure and learning as well as spiritual enlightenment, the jewel of Alteran culture! Atlantis was built for functionality; a ship of war. This place is far more!"

"Atlantis is pretty cool," said John, defensively, and by 'pretty cool,' he meant to express the sudden, visceral possessiveness he felt at Rodney's words; his city was the best place ever, in any galaxy, at any time. He felt like hitting something, but merely tightened his grip; his hands on his P90, his teeth on his lower lip.

oOo

Rodney, noticing John's reaction, hastily qualified his words.

"Well, of course, Atlantis is, as you say, 'pretty cool'. It's our home and it can fly, for a start, not to mention the fact that it's not mostly in ruins. But this place..." Rodney tailed off with an enthusiastic grin and a gesture toward his laptop. "Look!" John and Teyla looked over Rodney's shoulder as he showed them the plan on the screen. "See, this is us, here. This whole, sealed-off area was devoted to experimental technology. There are multiple levels. And look, the part we're in doesn't meet up with that first staircase we saw; that section's completely isolated, which makes me wonder why. And below this room there are more levels of labs. Then, here," he indicated a long passage leading from the bottom level to a room right in the heart of a mountain. A vertical shaft was marked above it. "This must be the source of yesterday's tremors."

"ZPM?" John enquired.

"The same place, I think," said Rodney, pointing to the room below the vertical shaft.

"Is it a weapon?"

"Maybe. Other than very general info and plans, it seems each lab's systems are separate from the others in terms of what the Ancients were trying to achieve, which means I'll have to hack each system individually to find out what they were up to. I don't know why they couldn't be a bit more explicit," Rodney grumbled. "There are some labels." He stabbed at the laptop and then read, "Guardian Type One, that's this room. Guardian Type Two, that's the room we missed, down the stairs near the entrance. Levels below us... there's something about materials-testing, altered consciousness (that'll be ascension experiments),... um... I think that word translates as cloning."

"So, what about this one?" asked John, pointing to the area in the heart of the mountain.

"It says 'power', so that'll be the ZPM. And something about 'equilibrium'."

"As in, restoring equilibrium to the galaxy by destroying the Wraith with a massive weapon?" John asked, hopefully.

"In all of our dreams," said Rodney, shrugging.

"This room is Guardian Type One?" asked Teyla. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, that's easy," said Rodney. "This is where they developed the grenza!"

oOo

Ronon had settled into that calm state of alertness that he had learned to maintain for hours on end many years ago, when carrying out sentry duty, the rank of Specialist only a distant dream. He was aware of the movement and voices of his friends peripherally, but his senses were much more intently tuned to pick up any sound not of their making, any stray scent or shift of air that might strike the jarring note of potential threat. Nothing had occurred, the air cool and with a very faint updraft, the silence, apart from sounds made by his team, complete. Ronon caught the word 'grenza', pushed himself away from the wall and paid attention.

"Those creatures were created here?" Teyla's voice expressed her distaste.

"Right here, in these cubicles," McKay confirmed. "It's all detailed in the database; the plans, the intentions, the abject failure and criminally careless release. Read it and weep!"

Ronon gritted his teeth and remembered the hunt he had taken part in the previous winter; the steadfast bravery of the farming community, the savagery with which some of the farmers had been killed. He thought about the continuing threat to the friends he had made, the monster he had slain and the two that had stalked him, that would have ripped him apart between them, if rescue hadn't come. Then he thought of all the cultures that had worshipped the Ancients, down through the ages, that worshipped them still, that counted them as gods. And it seemed to Ronon that the Ancients had seen themselves as gods, creating and destroying on a whim, acting as they saw fit, as if theirs was truly the divine right. He would blast their works out of existence.

"Chewie?"

Ronon found himself facing a row of the cubicles, his energy weapon raised. Sheppard gently, but firmly pressed down on his arm, until the weapon was aimed at the floor.

"I know how you feel, big guy, but that's not gonna help."

"I'd feel better."

"Yeah, maybe you would," agreed John. "But let's just leave them be, okay? Shooting up the place could start a fire, set off an alarm, make the whole place fall down round out ears, who knows? So, let's not risk it, okay?"

Ronon grunted a reluctant assent.

"What about this 'Guardian Type Two'?" Sheppard asked, turning back to McKay. It crossed Ronon's mind that he could fire, now that he was unobserved, but he resisted the impulse.

"Like I said, it's down the stairway we didn't investigate. There are no details here," Rodney said.

_Another type of grenza? _Ronon thought. Could it be lurking here, in the ruins? There had been something moving around last night; even McKay's instincts had picked that up.

"We'll check it out," said John, frowning. "There's something out there," he continued, echoing Ronon's thoughts. "And we need to know what we're up against." He looked at his watch. "We'll break first, though," he said, decisively. "Drink, eat, regroup. Then we find out if there's another crazy homicidal monster we need to worry about."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Teyla did not know much about the development of Ancient technology, but she recognised that this was different, even apart from the layout and shape of the room. It was octagonal, and instead of many separate cubicles, there was a very large, central, floor-to-ceiling cylindrical tank. Its sides were transparent, like glass, but Teyla could not see into its depths; it was like looking down through a frozen lake, seeing shapes, but being unsure whether they were fish or merely flaws in the ice. She turned to regard the rest of the room. The stairs occupied one side of the octagon, but the other seven sides were lined with displays and consoles that bore little resemblance to those in the grenza area and, to Teyla, did not seem to have much in common with the technology on Atlantis either.

Rodney was in his element, his eyes interrogating the room, a running commentary burbling from his lips like a fast-flowing brook. After several circuits he sat cross-legged on the floor, a briar patch tangle of cables in his lap, his quick hands selecting and discarding, working out a way to access the information stored in the room, his anticipation bright and eager. Teyla was reminded of a furren she had seen trying to eat a tough-shelled bird's egg, intent upon its work, sharp teeth and claws snapping and chipping toward the richness within.

Ronon lounged by the entrance, John peered into the depths of the tank.

"I can't make it out," he said, blinking. "It's like one of those magic eye things; you think you see something, then it's gone."

"I do not think there can be anything in there at all," Teyla said. "Perhaps this experiment was abandoned."

John shrugged. "Maybe. You got anything, there, McKay?"

"Give me a chance! This is completely different from anything I've come across before! Well, maybe not completely different, but different enough to be a challenge, even for me!"

"How long?" John asked, which was a mistake, Teyla thought, and she was proved right by the resulting tirade.

"This long!" spluttered Rodney, his hands held wide apart. "Or maybe just as long as it takes for you to drive me insane with your military-minded, deadline-driven obsessiveness!"

"Whoa! Calm down, McKay. I only asked!"

Rodney glared, then unleashed a brief squall of keystrokes at his laptop and spun it round to face John. Large, flashing green and red letters lit up the screen: 'Silence! Genius at work!'

"Perhaps we should consider our water supplies, John," said Teyla, diplomatically. "There does not appear to be any running water in this area. Will we stay here overnight?"

"At this rate, yes," said John, tightly. He sighed, ran one hand round the back of his neck and smiled at her ruefully. "You're right. As usual. Ronon, you stay here, keep an eye on McKay. Teyla and I'll go and refill the canteens."

Ronon stared at John impassively, and even after years' acquaintance, Teyla couldn't guess the thoughts running through his mind.

"Be careful," he said.

oOo

John had emptied his pack and now it held only their canteens. They had opened the doors that led back into the ruined section and stood, looking into the darkness, listening hard for several minutes before Ronon had shut and locked the door behind them.

John was uneasy. It was the usual problem; how to balance the safety of his team against the risks of the mission. He was almost certain they would, if they succeeded, come out of this mission with something good; a ZPM to power Atlantis, a weapon to use against the Wraith, some other tech that McKay would adapt to their advantage, maybe all of the above. But the dangers of this place were unknown, unpredictable; even a simple water run was fraught with risk.

"We'll try that place that McKay thought was a bathhouse," said John, quietly. "There was a trickle of water running through it."

Teyla, a silhouette ahead of him, didn't reply. She held her weapon ready and John could see the tension in her shoulders, her swift glances, left, right and upward. He turned, feeling the potential energy in his muscles also, the pent-up aggression, the fizz of adrenaline, readying him for explosive action. He swept his P90 back and forth, following the beam of light with his eyes. There was nothing there but the long darkness of the tunnelled passageway; he turned back and followed Teyla toward the distant light.

The direction of the sunlight had changed during the time they'd been underground and now shone further into the corridor. John paused before stepping out into the bright, mid-afternoon glare, letting his eyes adjust, listening for any movement amongst the ruins, feeling the warm breeze against his skin, pleasant after the underground chill. He felt Teyla stiffen next to him and was about to speak but she raised her hand, preventing him. John could hear nothing but the intermittent sighing of the wind, but he knew Teyla's hearing was sharper than his. She slowly relaxed and shook her head, as if to shake off her fears.

"Let's move," he murmured.

They moved, as quietly as they could, stepping over loose rocks and rubble, trying to tread only on smooth areas, to avoid the scrape of grit beneath their boots. They reached their goal. At the front of the bath-house, the passageway broadened out to encompass a wide terrace, overlooking the view of the mountain range.

John and Teyla slipped through one of the archways that led to the main area of the bath-house; a huge room, mostly taken up by a large, central depression, which had probably been a pool for swimming and socializing. It was difficult to imagine the room as it had once been; a vast, luxurious, marble-faced, echoing space. John thought that, unless the Ancients kept their voices to a very polite murmur, it must have got very noisy.

Smaller rooms led off, cut back into the slope; hot and cold pools, saunas, perhaps. Then, to one side, a crumbling flight of stairs, climbing to an open area at the back of the complex, which had been a garden or an outdoor gym. It was here that the meandering trickle of water which ran through the building made a tiny fall into a small pool. John set his pack down and looked up at the buildings above, set into a part of the mountain so steep that they appeared to loom over him and left most of the garden in deep shadow.

The thin thread filled the canteens irritatingly slowly, but John preferred to take the running rather than the standing water in the pool, which looked slightly green, although the water purification tablets should take care of any bacteria, he thought. As he began to fill the last canteen, a patter of shifting stone somewhere above made him jerk his head toward the sound, Teyla's P90 pointing swiftly in the same direction. John looked up to where a terrace or balcony had half collapsed, leaving a steep slope of debris down to the garden level. He could see nothing in the dim, blue afternoon shade, until a slight tumble of pebbles drew his attention and he squinted, suddenly able to make out eyes, and then he could see more eyes and distinguish a cluster of small grey-brown bodies on spindly legs, their narrow, sheep-like heads all turned toward him. They merged nearly perfectly into the shadows, but now John had noticed them, he could see the rapid rise and fall of their flanks; they were frightened.

"They are here to drink," Teyla murmured, softly.

The canteen had filled while John was watching the creatures, and, making his movements slow and deliberate, he screwed on the cap and stowed it in his pack.

"Let's back off. See what they do," said John. "Unless you want roast sheep-thing on the menu tonight?" he suggested facetiously.

"No. We have enough to eat and there is no fuel for a cooking fire," Teyla replied, taking his words at face value.

John stood slowly and they both moved back toward the head of the stairs. The little creatures, showing less fear than animals accustomed to human hunting parties, pattered delicately down the heap of fallen masonry, leaping agilely between blocks of stone. Some rushed forward to drink, while several stood, positioned at intervals up the slope as if overseeing. The drinking animals' heads bobbed up and down, wary of John and Teyla.

John was about to signal Teyla to head back, when one of the sentry-sheep let out a shrill, grating bleat and the animals immediately scattered, some running back up the slope, some scuttling toward the bathhouse, others forcing themselves into nooks and crannies in the rubble. John and Teyla swiftly came back-to-back, eyes and weapons darting here and there, ready to face the threat; and then sudden, sharp movements of angular savagery drew John's gaze to the top of the slope. A grenza burst from the piled ruins above them, its claws flailing and flashing, its mouth open in a snarling hiss of cruel intent.

oOo

The deafening rattle of John's P90 split the air and Teyla quelled an impulse to turn and fight alongside him, her instinct confirmed when some of the sheep shot back up the slope toward her, obviously pursued. John continued to fire in short bursts, the noise of Teyla's weapon joining his, as a grenza strode, sinister and skeletal, up from the floor of the bathhouse. It jolted under the impact of her bullets and stopped, raising its clawed arms and screeching. Teyla felt the pressure of John's back against hers disappear. She let loose another burst from her P90 and saw the rounds ricochet away from the creature's iron-hard exoskeleton. John's P90 continued to fire, but then the sound was abruptly cut off and she heard repeated shots from his pistol. Teyla's grenza screeched again, and reached out its taloned hands, but, rather than ripping her life away it grasped the bodies of two of the trembling, cornered sheep, and retreated, carrying its prey. Teyla spun round; one of John's grenza's arms hung limp, its claws shattered, and John clung onto the other arm with one hand, the creature jerking him this way and that in an effort to fling him off, while he fired again and again, directly into its eyes. Teyla's bullets joined John's and, with a final, desperate roar, it threw him off and retreated, scrambling and half-falling up the slope and away, black blood dripping from its wounds, roaring out its pain and anger.

Teyla turned in a smooth, efficient arc, scanning her surroundings, breathing hard, adrenaline still roaring in her ears. As if in a series of snapshots, her eyes focussed on small, frightened forms hidden amongst the rubble, John, sprawled on the ground, the pack by the pool. She listened: a faraway cry and another, answering. They had gone. Her heartbeat began to slow.

John had picked himself up. He shakily snapped a fresh clip into his sidearm and then holstered it.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes. Are you?"

"Just a couple more bruises, I guess," he replied. "Look what it did to my P90." He kicked at the mangled remains on the ground. "That's the second one I've lost to those guys." He bent down and picked up the weapon, nearly severed in two, and dumped it in his pack. "Better get going, before they bring reinforcements," he said, shouldering the pack.

"I wonder if we did right, John. Firing upon the creatures!"

"What should we have done? A handshake? A kiss on the cheek?"

They made their way back through the bathhouse and back along the now familiar passageway.

"They were hunting their prey, not us. The one I confronted took two of the sheep and left."

"Cut its losses. It would have taken you, Teyla, if you'd let it." John quickened his pace, as if impatient with her words.

"I am not so sure. In the winter, they had been forced out of their territory; they were threatened, defensive."

John stopped and turned to face Teyla.

"Could you have stood there and held your fire? Really?"

"No. But I am still unconvinced that enraging the creatures was the best course of action, John."

"No, well, it was my responsibility and my decision. And my fault if it comes back and bites us on the ass. Literally."

He set a quick pace back toward the darkness of the tunnelled pathway, and the relative safety of the underground labs.

oOo

Rodney stared into the tank. He put his face as close to the surface as he could and shielded his eyes from the light with both hands.

"Whatcha doing, McKay?"

"I'm trying to see it." Rodney let his hands fall with a sigh, and turned away. He stretched out his back and rolled his shoulders, stiff from sitting hunched over his laptop. "I can't see anything."

"Nothing to see," shrugged Ronon. "It's empty."

"No, no, it's definitely not empty. The Ancients didn't finish it, whatever it is, but the containment's still ticking over, after all this time, keeping the 'it' in some kind of stasis."

"What will happen when you pull the ZPM?"

"It'll die, I would imagine, that is, if you could classify it as alive in the first place, which is debatable. What's that?" A thumping sound came from above them, and Rodney fumbled for his sidearm.

"Relax, McKay, it's just Sheppard and Teyla."

"Well, let them in, quick! They might be pursued, or something!"

Rodney began unplugging his connections, attempting to coil them neatly and put them, in order, back into his pack. A futile effort, he knew; they always ended up in an angry, snarled-up mess.

Boots clumped down the stairs. Rodney looked up and then sat back on his heels.

"Who threw you on the trash heap?" he asked, noticing the dirt and dust coating John's clothes. "Ah, I see."

"You see what?" asked John, lowering himself to the floor with a hastily-supressed groan.

"Well, you're in a state and Teyla is her usual cool, calm and collected self, thus leading me to the conclusion that she's been teaching you not to disturb busy scientists!"

"Ha, ha," grumbled John, half-heartedly.

"We encountered two grenza, Rodney," said Teyla, with a quelling look. And it was never good to be on the receiving end of one of those; and, actually, he was concerned and, yes, that was a small twinge of remorse for making light of John's appearance.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Although you are right about one thing. I did get thrown on the trash heap."

"Did you kill them?" Ronon asked.

"We did not," said Teyla. "They were hunting the small mountain creatures, not us."

"They would have eaten us and then had those sheep-things for dessert," said John. He looked at Rodney and then gestured toward the console where he had been working. "Am I allowed to ask?"

"Yes, of course, although even now I'm not really sure what was going on here! The notes that I could decipher remind me of some kind of phase-shift theory. I mean, this technology represents months, even years of study and I've had, what? An hour?"

"Just tell me..."

"Yes, yes, I know! Is there, or is there not, another evil creation on the loose that's going to hunt us down? Quick answer: no!"

"Well, that's one good thing, then!" drawled John.

"Yes, I suppose so," Rodney said vaguely, getting up and peering into the tank again. "I just would've liked to get more of an idea of what they were trying to achieve here. As far as I could tell, the project was nearly complete, and they were about to embark on a stringent testing phase, which isn't that surprising, given the whole grenza debacle."

"I don't care what it was, as long as it's not coming after us," said John, climbing stiffly to his feet. "We need to get moving."

"Where to now?" asked Ronon.

"What d'you think, McKay? Do we need to check out the other labs or head straight for the prize?"

Rodney brightened at the prospect and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Oh, I think it's definitely Holy Grail time!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Teyla, descending the stairs next to John, caught the glimmer of a smile on his face as the Ancient wall sconces flickered to life at their approach.

"John?"

"It reminds me of Atlantis," he said. "The early days. The first time we came through the Gate and it lit up for us."

"It lit up for _you_," she corrected. "It must have been amazing."

"Huh, yeah. Amazing, terrifying. And that pretty much set the tone for the galaxy, I guess." They came to a landing, with passageways leading off. "We keep going down, right, McKay?"

"Yes." Rodney descended the last couple of steps, Ronon behind him. He looked wistfully at the branching corridors. "Bypassing who-knows-what scientific delights and curiosities!"

"Eyes on the prize, Rodney," said John. "How many more floors?"

"There should be three more."

"Onward and downward, then!"

Teyla was halfway down the next flight of stairs when she felt it; a slight twitch and shiver of the step beneath her, that had her grasping for the handrail in anticipation. The tremor tailed off and she heard John begin to speak, when the stairs gave a massive lurch, she lost her balance and felt something heavy impact her from behind. She fell forward, tried to regain her footing, then her left knee struck something solid and she felt a sickening wrench and a sharp, hot shaft of pain. There was confusion and shouts; she fell further and her mind cringed away from the inevitable, painful impact; it didn't come. Teyla felt pressure around her chest and under her arms and realised someone was holding the back of her tac vest. She felt sick and her vision was clouded with faintness, but she brought her sound leg beneath her and she was lowered carefully to sit on the stairs. Somebody was moaning, and, as lights on the floor below came to life, Teyla saw Ronon, carefully disentangling himself from Rodney, picking up the scientist and setting him on his feet. Rodney promptly crumpled up to sit on the bottom step, holding his arm.

"Teyla? Are you okay?" She realised that John was repeating his question.

"My knee." She tentatively flexed it and was relieved to feel the pain somewhat less. "I think it hit one of the uprights on the handrail."

"How bad?" John asked. His hands pressed gently around her kneecap, assessing the damage.

"I felt it move out of alignment and snap back. It was... unpleasant, but should not hinder me much."

"Don't move yet," he said. Teyla closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deeply, feeling her equilibrium return. She heard a crunching sound and then there was the relief of something cold on her knee. She opened her eyes; a chemical ice pack.

"Hold that there for a bit. I'd better check on McKay."

Teyla watched as John took over from Ronon in trying to assess Rodney's injuries.

"I would've been fine if I hadn't had six foot whatever of caveman land on me!"

"I said sorry, McKay."

"Alright! This isn't helping!" John ran one hand through his hair, glaring at them both. "Ronon. You okay?"

Ronon shrugged. "Yeah."

"That's because he had a soft landing!"

John ignored Rodney. "Break out some water and power bars, check on Teyla," he directed Ronon. He then knelt in front of Rodney and there was a brief argument before Rodney reluctantly held out his arm, and then further imprecations, alternately muttered and loudly emphatic, as John examined the injury.

Ronon sat down next to Teyla. He handed her some water, then a power bar. They both ate, silently.

"I'm sure it's broken!"

"I don't think so, Rodney."

"How would you know? You can't feel my agony!"

"You were moving it just then."

"Hence the agony! An ice pack? No! You need to splint it, or there'll be tissue damage, nerve damage! I'll lose the use of my hand!"

"I'll bind this in place," said John, doing so. "And you can rest it in a sling for now. There. Good to go."

"Go? I can't go anywhere! I have a broken arm! You need to get the Jumper!"

"You have a sprained wrist. And a ZPM to collect. And," John held out a hand and neatly caught the power bar that Ronon threw to him, "a snack to eat."

Rodney's grumbles became muffled by chewing. Ronon turned to Teyla.

"You good?"

"I think so," she said, holding onto the railing as she stood. She carefully increased the weight on her injured leg. It twinged and she knew it would not take much exertion, but she could at least walk.

"I'll take your stuff," said Ronon, shouldering her pack as well as his.

oOo

Rodney almost forgot about his injured arm and his various bruises as they descended further into the mountain and his excitement rose. Also, a puzzle distracted him for a while; how come the underground structures hadn't distorted and cracked under the onslaught of repeated tremors? His conclusions were threefold: firstly, that the construction material used by the Ancients was, to a certain extent, flexible; secondly, that there were sections of a different material where the stairs met the floors and at certain corridor junctions, which must be an extra flexible material. Rodney's third conclusion was pure speculation; perhaps the rooms and passageways were built on a system that separated them from the structure of the mountain. Springs, or slings, or something. Anyway, it didn't matter, it wasn't as important as what, he hoped, lay ahead, and Rodney let his thoughts trail away as he approached the end of the long corridor that led deep into the heart of the mountain. In the darkness ahead, faint but unmistakeable, was an orange-red glow that he was sure came from a long-coveted ZPM.

Of course, Sheppard wouldn't let him go first, making Rodney wait in the passageway while he slipped round the corner, his handgun raised (to shoot what, for heaven's sake?) to carry out a threat assessment, or whatever he called it. Lights in the large room ahead came to life and Rodney, standing on tip-toes, could see that it dropped down, far below the level he was on, and Sheppard must be standing on some kind of walkway. Did it run all the way round the room? What for?

"All clear."

Rodney didn't wait to be told. He rushed forward to stand, leaning on the railing, looking down upon the large, round space with its central console, in the very centre of which, the stuff of which his dreams were made, was a glowing, active ZPM.

oOo

"Pull it and we can go," said Ronon.

"Oh, yes, I'll do that, and then what? Shall we admire its pretty colours first, or maybe dance round it?" Rodney's sneers continued to float up to Ronon as he followed the scientist down the stairs to the ZPM level. "Or maybe we should just enjoy the effect as the whole place falls down on our heads! Pull it! Chuh! I need to study this system..." Rodney's words tailed off as he approached the console, began to flex his fingers in anticipation and then winced as his sprained wrist protested.

Ronon silently helped Rodney remove his pack, took out his laptop, rested it on what looked like a clear area, ("Not there! Put it here!"), moved it, opened it and stepped back; out of the way, but ready to help.

Rodney muttered a grudging, "Thanks."

Ronon amused himself by reciting, in his head, the first canto of the Satedan poet, Bahran's epic, 'The battle of Ti'ani'. He could easily have continued smoothly through all ten cantos, and then expounded on such things as verse forms and Bahran's idiosyncratic use of assonance, but the one canto was all it took, like a delicate suggestion of spice to perfect the dish of his amusement. It was an unacknowledged game, that McKay didn't even realise they were playing. Ronon's habits, after his seven years' running, had indeed become crude, like a primitive, like a caveman, as McKay called him; but he hadn't always been like that, and McKay knew that, really, if he thought about it. Except he didn't think about it, and so Ronon could play up as much as he liked to the caveman role, which did seem to come remarkably naturally sometimes. Anyway, Ronon thought, it was funny.

Sheppard and Teyla reached the bottom of the stairs. She'd had to go slow, her knee obviously hurting and Sheppard made her sit down on the step, her injured leg stretched out along its length; he put her pack behind her for her to lean on and then rolled up the leg of her pants to inspect her knee and put on a fresh ice pack. Ronon kept alert while John was occupied, running his eyes around the room, getting a feel for the space, McKay's movements in one corner of his awareness, John's and Teyla's in the other. There was a role-reversal in progress in the John-Teyla corner; it looked like Teyla had noticed the filthy state of the wrappings on John's palms, and the fact that he'd aggravated the injuries, if his winces as she unwound the bandages were any guide. He caught the usual 'fine' and 'good' in opposition to Teyla's 'dirt' and 'infection'. Teyla won, obviously, and Sheppard had to suffer her ministrations before she allowed him to escape.

"All good, Chewie?"

Ronon grunted an economical affirmative.

"No other exits."

A negative grunt stood for Ronon's agreement.

"Must be some ventilation, though. The air's fresh. Or fresh-ish."

Ronon shrugged.

"There!" McKay pointed a peremptory finger without looking up. There was a series of pipes running up the wall in just one area, a large one flanked by several smaller. "The big one discharges what one might call the 'payload', the others are for ventilation."

"Payload?" Sheppard's eyes sparked with interest. "As in, our earth-shaking weapons system?"

"Yes. Well, no, I don't think it's a weapon."

Ronon looked at Sheppard in mutual disappointment.

"So, what...?"

"Maybe I really should get Teyla to teach you not to interrupt busy scientists!" said Rodney, standing up straight, the better to deliver his furious glare. "Nothing I say seems to make a difference! I will tell you," he said slowly, "when I know!"

oOo

John sat cross-legged on the floor at the bottom of the flight of stairs, Ronon next to him, Rodney and Teyla on different steps. Teyla had wanted to help John set out the sleeping bags and heat up the MREs, but he'd made her stay still and rest her knee, thinking about the following day, when there'd be a long walk ahead. Rodney was shovelling in his meal absently, his thoughts still deep in his work, his meal pouch clutched awkwardly between his injured arm and his body; he'd dispensed with the sling as he was working, John had noticed. He watched Rodney try to scoop up another sporkful and realise the pouch was empty. He looked lost for a moment and then glanced down to see his crackers, already spread with cheese, one of the empty wrappers serving as a plate. He frowned, then looked up and met John's eyes.

"Did you...?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Thanks." Rodney picked up a cracker and began to eat it. "I suppose," he began, "you want to know what that thing does. Or did."

"Did?"

"Yes. I turned it off."

"Is it safe now, Rodney?" Teyla asked. "There will be no more earth tremors?"

"Yes, safe in that respect, at least. There's still a lot I need to look at before we can 'pull and go'." He glared at Ronon, who smirked.

"So?" encouraged John, finishing the last of his cheese tortellini.

Rodney sighed and broke off a piece of one of his crackers irritably. John got the impression that he wasn't the target of Rodney's irritation this time, however. Rodney sighed again, as if reluctant to speak, but then began, in what John thought of as his 'lecturing students of moderate idiocy' voice.

"Although we, obviously, don't know the full facts, the full circumstances under which this device, mechanism, was designed and created, it is, however, important to note that..." He stopped and his eyes and voice suddenly snapped with anger. "Oh, you know what? There's just no dressing this up! It's their fault! Those interfering, know-it-all, holier-than-thou imbeciles! They leave these amazing places for us to find and we think, 'Wow! Ancients! They were so much better than us! So advanced, so... so evolved!' These?" He waved his hand to encompass their surroundings. "Places like this? These shouldn't be their memorials, the lasting monuments to their hallowed race! No! There should be... there should be a slab of stone, a mile high! A fitting memorial for all to see! And I'd happily carve into it, by hand, the words: 'Stupid Ancients!'"

He stopped, breathing heavily. Nobody spoke. Rodney, who had stood up in his agitation, slumped back down to sit on the stairs.

"It's for climate modification," he said, in a small, weary voice. "It releases a highly-compressed form of methane, held by a forcefield, which bursts apart high in the atmosphere, sending smaller packages far and wide. Then their forcefields switch off, the methane sublimes and bingo, global warming."

John broke the heavy silence that followed Rodney's revelation.

"Global warming? So, um, what..." He struggled to see his way through the implications. "Why?"

Rodney shrugged. "They must have been heading for an ice age and thought, 'Natural fluctuations? We're too good for those!'" It was possible to eat a cracker sarcastically, John noticed.

"It's off now," said Ronon. "You fixed it."

"No!" said Rodney, bitterly. "Yes, I turned it off, no, I didn't fix it. It's been broken a long time, pumping out methane, ruining the climate, ruining it for... everyone."

John knew that Rodney was thinking about their friends, who they could now call the Montareans; he didn't feel like giving them an Ancient designation right now, though.

Teyla, sitting above Rodney, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Can we do anything to help?"

"I don't know," Rodney said, miserably. "I don't think so. I think it's too late."

oOo

The climate change machine switched off, they were no longer in any imminent danger from tremors, so the mission had lost a certain element of urgency. John let Rodney work for another hour after their meal, to try to find a solution to the global warming problem and to assess the risks of removing the ZPM. Then he called a halt, told his team to get a good night's sleep and that he'd take first watch.

John sat on the stairs, the main lights turned off, just the dim red-orange glow of the ZPM lighting the space. He sat, alone with his thoughts; his bleak thoughts, beginning with the damage that the Ancients had done to this world, this galaxy, and the impact it would have on their friends, and leading inevitably to his own feelings of guilt. The Ancients had clearly loved this place, in their own way, and had done their best to preserve and protect it, not just for themselves, but for the human inhabitants. They had seen the danger that the Wraith posed and attempted to create a race of guardians, in the form of the grenza; John considered the creatures' capabilities and decided that they must have been created before the Wraith developed beaming technology, or how could they have helped, even if they'd been inclined to? And, presumably, the Ancients' attempts at climate control had been made in a similar spirit of benevolence, and, John guessed, would have been successful if they hadn't been driven out of this galaxy by the Wraith. _They could have switched off their toys before they left, though, _he thought.

John recognised that his own actions had been, were always, carried out in the same spirit; with a drive to do the right thing, to help, to protect, to never, literally or metaphorically, leave anyone behind. And yet, look at the damage that he had caused. His insistence on that fateful first rescue mission where, at the cost of waking the Wraith and causing the deaths of thousands, hundreds of thousands, he had saved Teyla, along with the others captured at the same time. Of course, Colonel Sumner had died, by John's hand, and he wondered what would have happened had Sumner lived. Would he have led the military contingent on Atlantis more effectively than John? Made better decisions? Saved more lives? John felt the urge to make some kind of promise, a vow that he would never make the wrong decision again, that his actions would never lead to more harm, more deaths; but he knew he couldn't. The only thing that he could promise himself, that he had always promised himself, was that he would do his best; he would make the best decisions he could, based on the information available to him at the time. And he knew that, try as he might, risk his own life as he undoubtedly would, his best would never be good enough.

A movement, a rustle and Teyla climbed out of her sleeping bag and joined him, limping only slightly on her way. She sat down next to him.

"You have watched for long enough, John," she murmured. "You should sleep now."

"Not sure if I can."

Teyla massaged either side of her knee with her strong fingers.

"You are worried for this world, and for the friends we have made," she said. And then, in her usual intuitive manner, she guessed, "and you compare the Ancients' damaging actions to your own."

"Makes sense," he admitted.

"No, John, it does not," she responded, firmly. I know you blame yourself for much and I cannot tell you how to feel. But consider this: in each case, where you believe yourself to have failed, what would the alternative have been? How many have you saved? And how many would have died anyway, regardless of your actions? You are but one man in a galaxy, and you cannot take all its ills and injustices on yourself."

"No, just some of them."

Teyla shook her head and breathed out a long sigh. "Somewhere, John, there is a universe where you do not exist, or have been killed," she stated, baldly. "And that universe is a darker place than this, of that I am certain."

John felt the force of Teyla's words, and glanced sideways at her, seeing the conviction in her expression even in the dim, shadowy half-light.

"Now, you can rest," she directed, "because I am here."

It flashed across John's mind that Teyla sometimes reminded him of his mother and he quickly shied away from the thought, and was glad of the red glow from the ZPM that hid his embarrassment. _I bet she knows, anyway,_ he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

There was a voice, and Rodney decided to ignore it. It came again, accompanied by a firm prod on his shoulder. He opened his eyes.

"McKay! Your watch."

"Huhmmmyeah, 'kay," replied Rodney. He forced himself to sit up, putting weight on his sore wrist and stifling the resulting curses. The pain reduced to an ache, and Rodney began to feel the stiffness resulting from his use as a crash mat on the previous day, and his trampling by sheep-things the day before. He looked resentfully at his slumbering companions. Ronon had already encased himself in his sleeping bag and Teyla and John both lay still, breathing deeply. The ZPM-glow was a bit too comforting and Rodney knew he could easily fall asleep again, so he stood up and, draping his sleeping bag round his shoulders, shuffled to the central console. He glanced over his shoulder shiftily and, seeing no movement, reached over to give the ZPM a friendly pat and a murmured, "Good morning." The sleeping bag slipped off his shoulders and he shivered slightly.

The previous evening, Rodney had spent some time in the main city systems, finding that they had a lot in common with those on Atlantis. This proved fruitful in terms of an important discovery, to wit, the bathrooms, their doors sneakily hidden within the smooth, white walls; it had taken John, running his hands around the curved surface, to coax the doors into revealing themselves. _And not a minute too soon_ Rodney had thought, with relief. He had also managed to get the water running, although unfortunately, the nearest showers seemed to be the ones in the changing rooms at the entrance and there was no way he was traipsing all the way back up there more times than he absolutely had to.

Rodney accessed the controls for the heating, twitched them up a notch, paid a visit to the bathroom (there was actual hot water this morning) and then returned to the console. His task for the day, (or actually just part of the morning would be good), was to continue to assess the safety of removing the ZPM, in terms of security features, such as, say, the automatic closing and locking of all doors if the requisite passcode wasn't entered, trapping them all in the mountain to die a slow death from starvation. Because that wouldn't be ideal.

Rodney worked his way methodically around the system, unable, so far, to find anything which indicated the presence of such troublesome features. After a while he stopped, stretched, wondered at the litter of power bar wrappers on the floor, when he didn't remember eating anything, and shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, feeling itchy and grimy and crumpled. He grabbed his pack and hefted it into the bathroom. It really was a pity that there weren't any showers, but at least there was hot water, and he'd make the best of it.

Personal hygiene was always difficult on missions, Rodney thought, as he sorted through his pack for some clean clothes. Facilities were often as basic as finding the nearest river, or even waiting for the next downpour, and even at the Happy Helg, the provision for washing was minimal, consisting of a jug of water, which seemed to stay hot for all of five minutes, and a china basin to pour it into.

Having washed and dressed and shoved his dirty clothes firmly to the bottom of his pack, Rodney thought about shaving; could he be bothered? Technically, he was still on watch and he had already been in the bathroom for ages, leaving his sleeping team unguarded.

Ronon entered and echoed Rodney's thoughts.

"S'posed to be on watch, McKay. Is the water hot?"

He began stripping off with a complete lack of self-consciousness, holding Rodney's gaze as he did so.

"Er... yes!" Rodney squeaked, abandoned the idea of shaving and made a hasty exit. He saw the door of the women's bathroom slide closed; presumably Teyla was up. Unless it was John, which would be funny, and Rodney would purposely make plenty of noise, so that Teyla would wake up and she'd be sure to need to use the facilities, and then she'd walk in on John. Rodney sniggered to himself. But no, that was a Sheppard-shaped sleeping bag still occupied. Rodney sat down on the stairs, pulling a random MRE from his pack, (it didn't matter which he got because he liked all of them) and thought about how best to ensure his team's safety when he finally removed the ZPM.

oOo

Teyla had been woken by the rustle of Ronon's sleeping bag and had rolled over in time to see the bathroom door slide shut behind him. She wondered where Rodney was, as she knew he had had the last watch of the night. Reluctant to leave John sleeping alone, nevertheless the bathroom beckoned, and Teyla took her pack and went in search of relief and hot water. She heard the door of the men's bathroom open as she went in the women's and was satisfied that John would not be unguarded after all.

When she emerged, feeling much fresher, she saw that Rodney had brought the lighting a little higher, but not all way up, respecting their still sleeping team leader. Rodney was sitting on the stairs, struggling with the packaging of his breakfast, his injured arm obviously still painful. Teyla's knee felt better, but she knew she would have to be careful not to over exert herself. Silently she took Rodney's meal from him, opened it, and passed it back.

"Thanks."

Teyla sat down, a packet of crackers in her hand, and began to eat, wishing she had some fresh fruit.

"Where is Ronon?"

"Gone for a run."

There was a rustle and a groan, and John's bleary and unshaven face emerged from his sleeping bag. He croaked, cleared his throat and said:

"Ronon's gone?"

"He just said, 'Feel like running,'" (Rodney's impression of Ronon would not be well received were its subject present, Teyla decided). "And then he took off."

John sat up slowly, rubbed his face, ran his hands through his hair, blinked and squinted in the suddenly glaring lights, and then made a turning gesture with his right hand held in the air, as the lights dimmed slightly.

"'S better," he said. "Why didn't you stop him? Pairs, I said! We always have a buddy in a place like this!"

"Why didn't I...?" Rodney responded, his eyebrows raised. "'Stop, please!' said the squirrel to the grizzly bear!"

"I'll have to go after him McKay," John snarled, annoyed.

Ronon's voice came from the walkway above.

"No, you won't." He slouched, loose-limbed down the stairs, bouncing slightly with excess energy and directed a meaningful look at Rodney. "Squirrels? Those the little squeaky ones with the fluffy tails?"

"That was just an example," huffed Rodney.

Ronon growled and raised his hands to suggest claws.

"Knock it off," said John, grumpily, fighting his way out of his sleeping bag. He moved like a man who had been recently thrown onto hard surfaces, by both an earthquake and a monster, thought Teyla. "No more solo missions, big guy, yeah?"

"I'm done now, anyway," Ronon replied evasively.

Teyla rolled her eyes.

"Um... The water's hot, Sheppard," said Rodney, with what Teyla thought was a careful lack of emphasis.

"I found it most refreshing!" she encouraged, brightly.

John narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. "Anything to add, Chewie?"

"No," said Ronon. And then continued, tactlessly, "Stink, no stink, it's all the same to me."

"Ronon!" Teyla rebuked him, sharply.

John snatched at his pack, dragged it huffily to the bathroom and disappeared inside, muttering.

oOo

Ronon loomed over Rodney and asked, with deliberate provocation, "Are you done yet?" He was disappointed with the response, which had been becoming increasingly high-pitched over the last hour, so that Ronon had risked Sheppard's displeasure and Teyla's glare to make it a round ten times, wondering if Rodney would actually squeak. Or squeal. He did neither, but just waved a hand with bandaged wrist attached, in vague dismissal.

This unusual response alerted Sheppard, who been cleaning all the handguns and Teyla's P90 (and sighing over the mangled remains of his own).

"You got something, Rodney?"

"Yes," McKay replied simply. He stood up straight and looked around his team, a small smile rising to his lips. "I... I think I have!" He sounded hesitant, almost as if he couldn't believe his own words.

"And? So?" John prompted.

"Zeolites!" announced Rodney, proudly, if cryptically, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"Zeo-what, now?"

"Zeolites! Hydrated aluminosilicates of the alkaline and alkaline-earth metals! Put simply, their molecular structure is porous, so they act like like microscopic sieves, trapping methane; it's called carbon capture."

"So, there's another machine to balance this thing?" John asked, gesturing at the methane delivery pipe.

"Have you turned it on?" Ronon asked. _Problem solved, _he thought.

"Ah, well, hmm... There is a machine, but it's not actually here."

"Where is it, then?"

Rodney turned to his laptop, tapped the keys, and brought up a map of Montarea.

"Here," he said, pointing.

"That's an ocean, right? It floats?" asked John, hopefully.

"Ah, no, sorry."

"So, on the ocean floor, then," said John, running a hand thoughtfully round his jaw and looking surprised to find himself clean-shaven.

"But there are Jumper ports!" said Rodney, tapping keys to bring up a diagram of the machine. Ronon leant forward, closer to the screen. Last time the Daedalus had resupplied Atlantis, there'd been some new kitchen equipment, including a waffle iron, and Ronon had since become adept at exploiting the load-bearing capabilities of waffles, in terms of portable breakfasts; waffle, bacon, waffle, egg, waffle, more bacon (if he could get it), and so on. He'd stack as much as he could reasonably hold and eat it on the way to a mission-departure, a meeting, beating-up Marines, whatever he was doing. The thing on the screen looked like a waffle; round, divided into sections, except it had a hole in the middle where there was a sub-roll- shaped bit (Ronon was also an expert on filling sub-rolls to maximum capacity).

"See, this bit pivots," said Rodney, pointing to the sub-roll. "So, when it lifts off, the array," (_He means the waffle, _Ronon realised), "swings round to the vertical, then both the movement of the ship, machine, whatever, and giant fans, draw in the air, the zeolites filter out the methane, and then it gets oxidised into CO2."

"CO2?" John looked confused. "But that's a greenhouse gas too. How's that gonna help?"

"Because it's the methane doing the damage here; it absorbs heat two hundred times more efficiently than CO2. In the grand scheme of things the CO2's a drop in the ocean!"

"Speaking of drop in the ocean, how deep is this thing? And can you get it working?"

"Oh, it's well within the safety zone for a Jumper. As for getting it working, that's a qualified yes, with two provisos."

"Those being?"

"Firstly that we can unbury it."

"It's buried as well as sunk," John said, flatly.

"Ten thousand years, Colonel! What do you expect?"

"And?" said John, resignedly.

Rodney shuffled from foot to foot and looked pained.

"I'm guessing it plummeted out of the sky and sank into the ocean depths for a reason," he said, plaintively.

"Out of juice?"

Rodney's expression said it all.

oOo

Rodney cradled his precious cargo close to his chest, resisting the urge to croon reassuringly to it. His wrist hurt, but he didn't care, having refused to relinquish his burden to less tender hands. Anyway, it meant he could see where he was going, as he'd realised when he'd nearly tripped in the near-total darkness and wished for more light. The ZPM had set up a gentle glow, supplementing the meagre light provided by Teyla's P90 and John's too, the previously barrel-mounted flashlight being the sole remaining working component.

Of course, the lights had gone out as soon as he'd powered down and disconnected the ZPM and, while he was doing that there'd been much scuttling about packing things away and generally 'leaving the place as you'd hope to find it'. He thought John's military instincts had kicked in a little too hard, so that he'd even cleaned the bathrooms; Rodney wondered if he'd used his toothbrush, the ghosts of old Drill Sergeants echoing in his ears.

Rodney climbed the endless stairs with very mixed feelings; on the one hand, he was immensely relieved to have found a potential solution to the global warming crisis, albeit one that included a whole list of 'ifs' in its execution, which, anyway, was a situation that Rodney was well used to. The thought of their friends, human and otherwise (especially otherwise, in fact) losing their homes, their livelihoods, and even their lives, had been devastating.

But on the other hand...

"You need the ZPM to power the waffle thing, right?"

"Ha! Waffle! Nice one, Ronon," endorsed John.

"Yes, unfortunately, and I was thinking CCM - 'Carbon Capture Machine, so if you don't mind...!"

"We do," John interrupted, totally disregarding the load of disappointment under which Rodney was already labouring. Rodney held his ZPM more tightly (_mine for now, at least, _he thought), and continued to climb, readying his answer to the foolish question, 'How are we going to get out without power running to the door?', to which he would answer, 'Residual power, or, failing that... ZPM, anyone?' He'd pour a good deal of scorn into the response too, feeling he had a right to be more than a little peeved.

They were nearly at the top when Rodney saw Teyla's silhouetted form fling up a hand, bringing everyone to a halt, and for a moment he didn't register the significance of the scene before his eyes. Then, it clicked: daylight. Muted and diffuse, it nevertheless lit the top of the stairs, bringing three-dimensional form to his surroundings, where before Rodney had been traveling in a small golden ball with two white antennae penetrating the utter blackness before him. John and Teyla slowly climbed the remaining stairs and cautiously rounded the corner into the entrance corridor, disappearing from view. There was a sharp gasp and a stifled groan and Rodney froze, his heart rate rising to panic speed.

John's voice came, tight and strained. "Teyla, stay with Rodney. Ronon, with me."

Rodney climbed up to the landing, but Teyla put her hand on his chest, stopping him from entering the corridor.

"What...?" he began.

"Wait!" she said, and he couldn't interpret the look in her eyes, lit by grey daylight and red ZPM light.

He waited, hearing just John's and Ronon's footfalls diminishing; no shouts, no weapons' fire, no chittering call or eerie cry of grenza.

"Clear!" It was Ronon's voice; loud, almost angry. Why hadn't John given the all clear? John always did that team leader stuff. Rodney hesitated, feeling his arms tremble around the ZPM. His mouth was dry, a lump in his throat too big to swallow.

"Rodney." Teyla's of gentle resignation did nothing to dispel his fears, but Rodney had faced his fears before, many times, and, as usual, he surprised himself by rediscovering an elusive inner core of strength that hid itself entirely from his questing mind until it was needed; it was needed now. He stepped around the corner into the light that penetrated the mountain's depths and immediately saw the reason why: the doorway had gone. The doorway and the surrounding walls were now a ragged undulating arch, and, his faltering steps bringing him closer, Rodney noticed that some of the floor had gone too, in shallow grooves, or deep trenches. Eaten away? Dissolved? Blasted? His scientific mind observed that there was no debris present, while simultaneously noting, now that he was close enough, the damage to the stairway and walls leading up from the other lab. The other, isolated lab, set apart from the main area, set apart and isolated for a reason, laid over and over with layers of security, its contents placed in a type of deep suspended animation, so that a horror the like of the grenza could never be accidentally released. And Rodney had been sure, so sure, that removing the ZPM would be safe, would merely leave the unanimated creature trapped in its perpetual prison, never to be released into this precious, unsuspecting world. Sure. He'd been sure; as sure as he'd been on Doranda.

His shocked attention turned from his own devastation to his friends, his team. Ronon stood, outside the ruins of the doorway, his blaster clenched tightly in his hand, his frame visibly vibrating with the need for action. John had not reached the doorway; he had stopped, at the point in the corridor where Rodney had been able to clearly see the damage originating from the stairwell. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, his face was greyer than the grey light, his eyes stared at nothing. Teyla, her face full of sorrow and concern, but still somehow projecting hope and faith, tentatively reached out to put her hand on his arm.

oOo

John pulled away, turned away from her completely and Teyla's heart sank. She had faith in him, faith where he himself doubted; she knew that John would do whatever it took to rectify this fresh setback, that even now, in the midst of his harsh self-blame, he would be planning, scheming, deciding the best course of action. But Teyla shrank from the thought of the price he might pay; the physical and mental burdens he would dutifully shoulder, deeming them rightfully his to bear.

She reached out again.

"John, this is not..."

He spun around. "My fault? Not my fault - that's what you think, is it?" he spat, bitter with self-recrimination. Next to Teyla, Rodney started forward, about to speak, but John stopped him. "No! Don't any of you tell me that! Just... don't!" He broke off, his fists clenching and unclenching. Rodney's mouth drooped unhappily, the ZPM held protectively against his chest as if it were a small child. John closed his eyes and his chest rose and fell slowly two, three times. His eyes opened again, and his expression was intent, grim with purpose.

"Ronon, can you clear me a safe place to land the Jumper?"

"What...?" Rodney began, but John interrupted.

"The platform in front of the bathhouse?"

Ronon shook his head. "Not strong enough. I'll level an area near the dome. Up from where we camped the other night." He gestured with his weapon, and Teyla knew that, with his hands and his gun, he would manage the job.

"Rodney, you need to find a way to track the thing." John had dumped his pack on the ground, and, taking off his tac vest he began to strip it of all non-essential items. "What can you tell me about it?"

"Um... I guess it's, um, assimilating its surroundings somehow, er, some kind of phase-shift to integrate its molecules with other materials; unless it's non-corporeal, an entity created from energy, maybe?"

"What does that mean?" demanded John. He'd taken off his uniform shirt and was putting his tac vest back on over his t-shirt.

"It means I don't know! It means maybe it can do virtually anything! John, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going for the Jumper," said John, checking his sidearm. "I'll come back, pick you up, and then we'll follow it."

"But..."

"We'll track it, we'll find it, we'll destroy it."

"John, I wouldn't know where to start! I don't even know if it's alive!"

"You said it assimilates stuff?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll get it to assimilate our C4."

"I don't know..." Rodney tailed off, stunned.

John turned to Ronon. "I'll be as quick as I can. Be ready." Then he was gone, and Teyla heard the rapid beat of his boots fading into the distance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

John ran. And as his body ran, his mind coldly observed his surroundings, noting the great swathes of rock removed from the walls and floor, realising, as he reached the end of the underground section, that both walls and floor and high-arched ceiling were scoured and scraped, and this meant that the creature was growing; already big enough to fill the passageway, how big would it grow? How much damage would it do to this world before it was stopped, if it could be stopped? John ruthlessly cut himself off from such thoughts, and incised a line in his mind behind which speculation and longing and crushing guilt must and would stay.

The creature had carved a path down through the terrace in front of the bathhouse, and on into the lower city and the slopes of the mountain beyond. John decided to follow the path, refusing to ask himself where the creature was going, so swiftly, so urgently. He ran headlong down the gouged trail, skidding on the powdery grit that covered the strangely smooth surface, single-minded in his determination to get the Jumper and then pursue the creature to its extinction.

oOo

Ronon raised his blaster and fired, bringing a cascade of rock tumbling down the ancient terracing. He fired again, and again, and then stopped and began hurling the rock where he wanted it, stamping it down to create a firm surface; firm enough for the Jumper to land on once at least. He relished the activity, the urgency, the burning in his muscles, and was glad that he could do something; that he had a means to channel his helplessness and fear into hard, brutal work. He raised his blaster again and took aim, seeing Teyla above him and to one side, safely out of the way, but alert, watching, her P90 ready. She sat on a rock, one leg stretched out, because climbing all the stairs and then walking the length of the passageway had been too much for her knee. The subtle tap and clatter of Rodney's laptop came from behind him; they all had their tasks. Ronan fired.

oOo

How much to push himself? How hard? How fast? John had no consideration for his own pain, his own ragged breath and burning lungs, in his downhill flight; his body was a tool, a machine to be used, and he was prepared to push that machine to its limits. But as he ran, his mind flittered with risk-assessments; the advantage of jumping from the end of an outcrop versus the risk of injury, the time gained by ski-ing, arms spread, knees bent, down patches of scree, against the likelihood of losing his balance and pitching forward. The machine must do its job, must complete its task, but John felt he was always tipping the verge of his limits, veering almost too far, pushing his body harder and harder toward disaster.

He hurtled down a deep-carved ravine, saw a rocky precipice ahead of him that jutted out into the void, then skidded and flailed on the loose rock, turned sideways and crouched, leaning into the slope, like a downhill skiier; his legs went out from under him and he crashed down on one side, slid for a few feet and stopped, his feet within inches of the edge. John lay, chest heaving, heart pounding, coughing in the churned-up dust, but his unremitting sense of urgency forced him up, staggering, to his feet. The bandages on his hands were loose and he tore them away impatiently, noticing his pants hanging in ragged strips down the right side, from his fall, cut by the jagged rocks, and corresponding red lines beneath, just beginning to bleed. He absently noticed blood running in streaks down the underside of his right arm from where he'd flung it out. He mopped at them with the strips of bandage and then hurled the rags away, feeling nothing but the fizz and surge of adrenaline, and distracted by the sight before him.

The creature had met an obstacle in its path; a rocky bluff, similar to the one John and his team had climbed around. It had gone straight through; through and down in an undulating tunnel that bored straight into the rock, paying no need to its utter and complete solidity. The creature's power was immense and John heard himself give a great sobbing breath before he gripped his despair tightly and shoved it to the back of his mind. He would take advantage of the destruction and follow.

oOo

The noise of Ronon's blaster echoed round the ruins, again and again, so that Teyla heard the great, cracked dome pick up the vibrations and begin to hum. She shifted slightly on her uncomfortable rocky seat and the icepack on her knee fell off. Picking it up and brushing off dust and rock chips, Teyla wondered how far down the mountain John was and hoped he was alright. She put the ice pack back on her knee, wincing as she eased the joint straight out and then set her foot down again.

Ronon was taking a break, gulping from his canteen, sweat running down his face from exertion and heat. Teyla felt her senses still suddenly and, trusting her instincts, she listened. A trickle of falling grit, a slight shifting of rock against rock, somewhere... somewhere behind her. She rose smoothly, allowing the ice pack to fall, her P90 up, tracking from side to side. She could see nothing and hear nothing but the ruffle of the hot breeze against her ears. Ronon had noticed her unease and strode up the slope, leaping up the dent he had created in the ancient stonework.

"D'you hear something?"

She nodded, her narrowed eyes scanning the ruins.

"Maybe the sheep-things," said Ronon.

"I do not think they would approach. The noise will have scared them away."

"Yeah. Grenza?"

"That is my guess," she said.

"The noise'll scare them off, too."

"In ones and twos, perhaps. It may be that they are capable of organising themselves and will attack in force if they feel threatened by the noise."

"We don't have a choice." Ronon turned and made his way back down the slope. "I'll keep working. If we have to, we'll hold 'em off til Sheppard gets here."

"We will," she agreed.

Teyla reviewed her surroundings; she would require a better vantage point if she wanted to see the creatures coming and defend herself and her companions. She followed Ronon down the slope, her eye on the roof of the gatehouse.

oOo

The tunnel was full of dust and John ran, coughing and choking, sending up rolling clouds of the stuff where the rocky passage fell steeply away, and he had to sit down and slide. Light came from above and below, but the air was grey and thick and John, running and then sliding and then running again, became disoriented, the gradient seeming to shift, so that he couldn't tell if he was level or falling or even climbing. He pressed on, eyes streaming, dizzy and sick from coughing; and then he stepped into nothingness.

John had a split second to draw in his arms and legs, and tuck in his head before his feet hit, the surface so steep that he skidded, then rolled, head over heels, falling and tumbling, down and down, picking up speed until he bounced once, twice, and then, he burst into a glare of white light, skidded in a great, grey, plume; and then he stopped.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel. His heart still raced and he panicked, kicking and thrashing and choking in a sea of soft greyness, his mouth and eyes and nose filled with the suffocating dust. One foot hit something solid, and he pushed away as hard as he could, up through the sea of grey and out, into the whiteness, his grit-clogged eyes blind. He reached out as he fell back into the dust and his grateful hands touched solid rock and grasped it, clawing and heaving until he felt air around him. John crawled forward, and hacked and spat and vomited until he could drag in great pained lungfuls of air; then he collapsed, exhausted, and lay, just breathing; a rapid rasping and wheezing, in and out, jerky and raw.

Time paused as John lay, until he realised that he was cold and trembling with shock. He rolled over weakly and pushed himself up on his arms; they collapsed beneath him, so he tried again, and made it to sitting, slumped over, feeling dizzy and sick, his eyes closed in vain against the penetrating dust. He patted around his body with a trembling hand and found his canteen, then rinsed his mouth, spat, drank, and tried to wash the grit out of his eyes. The water was cool and soothing and he blinked into the trickle, seeing brief flashes of startlingly blue sky. His eyes still felt gritty but he resisted the urge to rub them, and began to take stock of his situation. Through narrowed, streaming eyes, John looked back and saw the mouth of the tunnel from which had been spat out at high speed. Beneath it was a smooth, grey expanse, its surface appearing flat and undisturbed, its appearance benign. The dust that the creature had left behind had both saved him and nearly killed him; cocooned and insulated him from serious injury, but suffocated and nearly drowned him.

John took another sip of water, his mouth parched, grit between his teeth, knowing he should ration his supply until he reached the Jumper. Stiffly, limbs heavy with weariness and pain, he turned around to view the curve of the mountain as it continued south. The creature's path was clear; descending to the rock-strewn cratered plateau, it stretched away as far as John could see, pointing like an arrow to the serried rows of the mountain range and then beyond to the forest-farms of the Montareans.

oOo

Rodney was miserable with guilt and fear; fear both for the short and long-term, and, above all, fear for his friend, who'd gone charging down the mountain alone, full power running to his damned self-sacrifice circuits. And why John had to take such a load of guilt on himself, Rodney didn't understand, not when there was a perfectly good candidate for blame in the shape of his monumentally over-confident, ZPM-coveting idiot of a physicist.

Rodney had finished calibrating his laptop to track the strange energy signature of the escaped horror and now it had passed out of range, so that he didn't even have the dubious distraction of watching its ominously swift progress across his screen and was at his excruciating leisure to wallow in misery; an activity in which Rodney was indulging to the full.

"McKay! You done?"

"Yes. Done. For what it's worth." Even Ronon's interruption to his self-flagellation wasn't irritating enough to divert him.

"Come'n stamp this down, then!"

Scathing sarcasm: 'a good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over' would have been Rodney's normal response. He didn't have the heart, but simply huffed, set down his laptop and stamped where Ronon told him to stamp. He glanced up at Teyla, her head and shoulders projecting over the parapet of the gatehouse roof; when Ronon had boosted her up there, Rodney had thought about joining her, but as a place of safety it left much to be desired, not least the fact that the ceiling beneath was starting to give way.

"That might do it," said Ronon.

"Good thing we don't have an archaeologist on the team," said Rodney, regarding Ronon's one-man excavation of the ancient terracing. He'd brought down some areas and shored up others to create a very rough platform, big enough for John to land the Jumper.

"Yeah," Ronon agreed. "It'd be funny, though. That Jackson guy'd have a fit."

"Oh, well," said Rodney, dismissing the precious remains with a casual wave at the rest of the ruins. "There's plenty more where that came from!"

"Ronon!" Teyla's stage whisper hissed urgently down to them. Her eyes pointed to the domed building and for a moment, Rodney saw nothing. Then a black shaped flitted across the entrance; a grenza. For a while there was just silence and stillness and the still-burning heat of the westering sun. Ronon shifted and his boots crunched on the layer of hardcore as he began to move; but then the grenza called, and the cry reverberated round the dome, which seemed to encourage the creature to raise its voice to the sky, and it howled, a high, drifting, alien shriek that struck terror in Rodney's heart and mind.

The cry sustained and then faded slowly.

"We are so screwed!"

"Teyla! Can you see them?"

"No!"

"McKay, get your stuff, you need to be ready."

Rodney ran, skidding on the loose rock and stuffed his laptop back in his pack, feeling down between the layers of his sleeping bag to briefly touch the jagged outline of the ZPM.

"What should I...?"

"Bring it!" said Ronon. "And Sheppard's. We need to defend this area."

"There is one on the portico!"

Ronon spun round, blaster raised.

"Wait!" Teyla called. "It may not attack!"

Rodney dragged the packs up to the landing pad and leant them against each other. He drew his sidearm, and checked the magazine, surprised at the steadiness of his hands.

Ronon swung round suddenly; another had emerged from the shadows and Rodney spun the opposite way. He was right; he couldn't see it, but the distinctive, peculiar chittering came from behind the remains of the wall.

"I don't think they're here to parley!" he said, Beretta raised, both hands gripping the weapon firmly.

"We must not attack first!" said Teyla, urgently. "We need time!"

"We could retreat," said Rodney. "Defend the gatehouse!"

"No. We'd get trapped. Sheppard'll come," Ronon said, stoically. "You need to get down, Teyla."

"I can cover you from here. I will join you when I have to."

"There's another!" A second grenza strode out onto the portico and the two stood, chittering and clicking to each other. They could still retreat down the mountain, if they had to, Rodney thought. Maybe John could hover to pick them up. But then one of the creatures on the portico called and there was an answering cry; it came from behind him, below the gatehouse, and Teyla confirmed it.

"We are surrounded."

oOo

John had had to turn away from the escaped creature's trail; it had headed south, whereas the Jumper was approximately north east across the jagged, broken country that had made their trek so hard two days before. John tried to keep up a brisk pace; he had staggered at first as he set off from the edge of the treacherous dust bowl, his legs rubbery and unresponsive, his body feeling beaten and heavy. But he knew he had to persevere and, having eaten a power bar and had some more water as he stumbled along, he felt a little better and forced himself to pick up speed.

It was hard going, though, and the sun didn't help, even though it was well past its zenith. Sweat ran down his face, his hair was soaked and his feet were sore and blistered. The rocks shimmered with heat haze and the only sound was John's laboured breathing and the sound of his boots scraping and slipping on the uneven rock. The landscape stretched around him, bleak and heartless and he felt small and insignificant and alone.

He slipped and fell, landing on his outstretched hands, reopening the existing scrapes and creating more. Climbing to his feet, he set off again, willing himself to concentrate hard on the placing of each footfall, judging the shape and the aspect of each angular tooth of contorted rock. He managed for a while but his concentration waned and he fell again. This time only his tac vest saved him from serious injury, his chest impacting hard with a viciously sharp peak of rock. As it was, he got away with what, he was sure, would soon become a threatening black bruise.

John got to his feet again, wincing. He looked back at the mountain and squinted at the position of the sun to judge his course. He thought he was on the right track, but the Jumper was hidden in a crater and he wouldn't see it until he was on top of it. Taking another drink, he shook his canteen; only a couple of mouthfuls left. He set off again, muttering a particularly lewd song he remembered from his far-distant basic training days.

There was a crater to his left and John made his way to the lip and looked down into the wide bowl, just in case; no Jumper. He carried on, and thought about his team. Ronon would have made him somewhere to land, Rodney would be ready to track the creature, Teyla would have watched over them with her P90 ready; John had absolute faith that these things would have been done and knew his team would have absolute faith in him coming back for them. Stumbling to a halt, bent over, gasping, with his hands on his knees, he hoped their faith wasn't misplaced.

He looked again back toward the mountain and was convinced the view was the same as he'd seen, setting out in the dawn light over two days ago. He turned around, scanning the landscape, but could see no craters and the turning made him dizzy, so that when he started walking again he tripped and fell once more. And, yet again, pushed himself to his feet and continued. John knew he was exhausted; he needed rest, water and food. Water and food he hoped were ahead of him in the Jumper; rest might have to wait, and the urgency of his mission made him pick up his halting pace once more and push his unwilling frame to greater endurance.

John didn't realise he had reached the crater; he had been stumbling along in a daze and, when the ground disappeared beneath his feet he almost thought he was back in the tunnel, still endlessly falling. He pitched forward but managed to bring one foot under him so that he made a wild, madly running entrance down the steep side and into the shallow bowl. His momentum slammed him into the side of the Jumper and as he fell back to the ground and looked up at its familiar grey-green solidity, it seemed to shimmer and dance before his eyes and disappear, as if a cloud of the choking grey dust had suddenly descended.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Ronon fired a warning blast in the air, underlining the spray of fire from Teyla's P90; the grenza paused, calling and chirping to each other, flexing their clawed hands threateningly. They began to move forward again, sometimes dropping to all fours, their blank, alien gaze fixed firmly on their prey. Ronon counted six approaching from the front and another two from behind; more than enough to finish himself and his two teammates.

"What do we do?"

Rodney, next to him, his arms stiff and straight, pointed his weapon first at one then another of the monsters, his fast, panicked breaths clearly audible. Some would have thought he was about to break and run; Ronon knew he wouldn't.

"We hold," said Ronon, grimly. "And when they're close enough, fire at the eyes."

"The eyes, the eyes, fire at the eyes," Rodney muttered to himself.

The creatures were in no hurry, stalking their prey inch by inch, knowing they had them surrounded.

"Where are you Sheppard?" pleaded Rodney.

"He'll come," said Ronon. "Teyla! Don't get cut off up there!" As the words left Ronon's mouth the grenza began to move more swiftly and he heard Teyla fire in short, controlled bursts.

"Now!" he yelled and he and Rodney began to fire too. Ronon, ignoring his advice to Rodney, began firing at the clawed hands which stretched toward him, sheering off the curved black knives with blasts from his energy weapon. He heard Teyla's P90 pause briefly then felt her presence at his back and the short, rattling bursts were loud in his ears, drowning out the rapid jab of the Beretta. One of the grenza that he'd declawed turned and fled and one or two others paused, but then attacked with renewed vigour. Ronon knew they couldn't hold out for long; in a smooth sweep, he drew his long blade from its sheath at his back and parried a swipe of black claws aimed at Rodney, still firing at the beasts in front of him. Teyla was firing on full automatic and would soon need to reload. _Now, _Ronon thought. _It needs to be now, or never, Sheppard!_

And then their weapons' fire was drowned by a resounding explosion and Ronon flung up his arms as chips of rock rained down upon him. The grenza howled, there was another explosion, and the air filled with dust so that Ronon could barely see his companions. The creatures scattered in confusion and he turned and steered Rodney to the edge of the platform he'd created, seeing Teyla next to him through the dust. Most of the grenza had fled in terror at the drone strikes, but two of the largest turned back, reluctant to abandon their prey. All three teammates turned their fire upon the two approaching monsters and then there was a large shape lowering itself next to them, the rear hatch opened and the welcome sound of another P90 joined in. They backed toward the hatch, maintaining continuous fire, then turned and ran up the ramp, John's P90 continuing to split the air until they were safely inside and the hatch was raised.

oOo

"Nice rescue, Sheppard," Ronon rumbled.

John didn't reply, but concentrated on lifting the Jumper off and getting them safely away. He knew he had almost been too late, and that if he'd truly knocked himself senseless against the side of the Jumper, his team would probably be dead by now. As it was, winded and exhausted, he'd felt as if he were moving in a pain-filled fog, and it had taken a monumental effort to haul himself up and, thankfully entering the Jumper and out of the burning sun at last, he'd nearly fallen asleep as he slumped into the pilot's seat. But he hadn't, he reminded himself; he'd made it, scared away most of the monsters with a couple of drones, snatched up one of the spare weapons and covered his team as they retreated to safety.

"Sheppard?" Rodney's voice, and John realised he had been talking and was looking at John with concern.

"Uh, yeah, could you take her for a bit, Rodney?"

"Yes, are you okay? You look pretty... well very..."

"Beat up? Yeah. It wasn't great." John eased himself out of the pilot's seat, wincing, and beginning to realise that his appearance wasn't that inspiring. His clothes and skin and hair were filthy with dust and sweat, blood had run down his exposed arms and tears in his pants revealed red beneath.

"What happened to your eyes?" asked Rodney.

"Oh, dust, grit..." said John, vaguely. "It wasn't great," he said again and swayed, gripping the back of the pilot's seat.

He heard Teyla's voice and felt himself being steered to the back of the jumper and pushed gently down onto one of the bench seats. He leant back and closed his eyes.

John was aware, in a limited kind of way, of Teyla's and Ronon's voices, and felt someone removing his tac vest. A canteen was held to his lips and he drank, choked, spluttered and woke up enough to see Teyla, the Jumper's medkit next to her, looking at him dubiously as if she wasn't sure where to start. He smiled at her sleepily and then allowed his eyes to droop again, until he felt cool against his skin and realised that someone was pulling at his t-shirt.

"Leave me 'lone," he slurred.

"John, this is torn and very dirty and you have a spare one," Teyla said, firmly.

"'kay," he conceded, grudgingly, and then did his best to sleep through the proceedings. The sting of disinfectant kept him from drifting away as much as he would have liked to; he thought Teyla was taking a top-down approach, starting with his face (Had he cut his face? He didn't remember) and then on down his arms. Then it seemed as if both arms were burning and stinging at once, and his eyes flickered open to see Teyla on one side and Ronon on the other.

"Tag team," he murmured, and then carried on trying to ignore them; which was impossible when his head was tipped back and liquid was suddenly squirted into his eyes.

"Hey, what the...?"

"Your eyes are bloodshot, John and probably have grit in. I did warn you."

"Well, I didn't hear you!" he protested, fully awake now. Teyla carried on, and he did his best to keep still until she had finished irrigating his eyes, but then she started unbuckling his belt, which was when John decided he'd had enough.

"Teyla!" He pushed her hands away.

"John!" It was her 'I mean it!' voice. "You have cuts on your legs that need to be cleaned. And these are doing very little to preserve your modesty," she added, with what could almost be described as a smirk.

He looked down at himself. As predicted, there was an angry-looking bruise on his chest from where he had landed on the pointed rock. Other colourful areas were beginning to bloom, and his shoulders, arms and hands were decorated with a variety of band-aids and dressings.

"I look like I'm being held together with tape," he said.

"I cannot tape these, John," said Teyla. Which was all too true, John realised, blushing, as he saw the state of his pants; gaping rents in strategic places, so that they were almost falling off.

"Here," said Ronon, thrusting a power bar at him. "Eat this and just let us get on with it."

John's stomach gave an unhappy twist of agreement and he took the bar and ate, trying not to squirm with embarrassment.

oOo

"Is he okay?" asked Rodney, his eyes flicking toward the rear compartment where his team leader was laid out on one of the bench seats, snoring, before returning to the viewscreen.

"He is exhausted, but he will be alright," replied Teyla.

"Exhausted? No wonder, running all that way!" Rodney sorted through the MRE in his lap, found the cake, and began to devour it in sympathy at John's calorie deficit.

"Looks like he fell down most of it," said Ronon. There was a repressive silence, which meant that Ronon was the subject of a Teyla special. "You got a lead on that thing?" asked Ronon, unaffected.

"Yes," said Rodney, "and I've configured the LSD to track it, although I'm not sure following it on foot's going to be a good strategy."

"Fast?"

"Very."

"We will do what must be done," said Teyla. "To protect the people of this world."

There was an uncomfortable silence, none of them sure that they could stop what they had unwittingly released. Rodney flew on into the fading light. He frowned. He altered course, so that the Jumper faced more toward the west.

"That's the sunset, right?"

"Yes, Rodney, of course," Teyla said, puzzlement in her voice.

Rodney altered course again, turning to the south-east.

"So, what's that?"

Teyla and Ronon stood up and gazed out of the viewscreen, where, low down, on the far horizon, the sky glowed red.

"That's fire," came a despairing voice from behind them. "The forest's burning."

oOo

"A forest fire," breathed Rodney.

"They've got fire breaks," said Ronon. "They're prepared."

"I do not think any preparations could be enough," said Teyla, sadly, remembering the parched state of the forest as they had left it.

"Dry as tinder," Rodney said, softly, repeating his words of several weeks ago. The glow grew in the sky as they approached the lowlands and the forest. "What can we do? We can't fight the fire as well as the Ancient's creature!"

Teyla watched John's battered face, seeing the weariness forced to one side by his determination.

"Where's the... I can't keep saying 'creature'. What're we calling this thing?"

"Guardian Type Two, the Ancients called it," said Rodney.

"Catchy," sneered John, shrugging on his tac vest, his jaw clenching as he moved his arms and shoulders.

"I don't know! Um... the children's tale was about a witch, so... witch's cat..." Rodney snapped his fingers. "Salem!"

"What's that from?"

Teyla was glad she knew her team well and was not dismayed by this apparent waste of time. In a moment they would stop and John would have worked out at least plans a, b and c and Rodney would have various strategies at his fingertips. Rodney mumbled a reply to John's question.

"What?"

"Sabrina the teenage witch, okay?" yelled Rodney.

As expected, John sniggered and Ronon smirked and then it was back to business.

"So, where's Salem?"

"I think near Fren's farm," said Rodney. Ronon shifted, and his teeth ground together audibly. "But it's not moving much anymore," Rodney continued. "It seems to be just going in circles."

Ronon growled. "Drones. Fire drones at it."

"And risk hitting anyone nearby? And start another wildfire? No! We don't even know if that would work!"

"Okay, listen up!" John interrupted. "One thing at a time! How big is the fire, Rodney?"

Rodney brought up a map on the HUD and then the image lit with colour, a long, vibrant, curving slash along one edge.

"Going by infra-red, I'd say the front is about a mile long, with a couple of isolated spots ahead. See how the wind's blowing it south west?"

"Did Salem start it?" Ronon asked.

"No, I don't see how," Rodney said. "It's in the wrong place."

"Here's what we're gonna do," said John. "Rodney, you set me and Ronon down near Salem and we'll see if we can get it to eat all our C4..."

"I don't think that'll work!" said Rodney. "And if it does that's another great way to start a wildfire!"

"Then we'll wait til it's on a road or a river..."

"The rivers are dried up!"

"Rodney!" John barked. "I'll think of something!"

"But..."

"And in the meantime, you and Teyla go to the wetlands, close the inner bulkhead and sink the Jumper, fill it up and let it go over the wildfire."

"John, I do not see why..."

"Can you run, Teyla? Your knee, will it stand up to running?"

Teyla reluctantly shook her head.

"Go with Rodney, then," insisted John. "Alright, let's get this done!"

"No, but wait!"

"Rodney..."

"Wait! I have a better idea. The waffle!"

"That'll have to wait!"

"Listen to me, dammit!" Rodney demanded. "You oxidise methane, you get CO2 and you get water! Water, Sheppard! The machine has water tanks, big enough to hold... I don't know: enough, anyway! Enough to put out the fire!"

"You'd have to get down there, you'd have to unbury it, get it working. I don't think so, McKay!"

"John." Rodney's voice was flat and hard with conviction. "I can do this. Trust me."

The familiar frown, the chew of the lower lip, the clipped nod: "Do it."

oOo

Awareness had come, but without knowledge; life, without shape or form. It had moved without consciousness of movement and its mass had been gathered from that which it passed by, flowed through, bonded with. It followed a smooth straight contour, its awareness growing of the forces that made up the world; gravity, inertia, density, and then light. And, pausing, while categorising the radiation forms it bathed in, it had felt an urge; it knew its first desire, but not from where the desire came or its meaning or purpose. Yielding to the urge, it had begun to move again, tasting its surroundings, assimilating, categorising, storing or discarding. It had passed through a tight matrix of ordered ranks, pushing itself on and down, feeling the flow of the particles into and through itself, merging with them; and then, when it had burst into radiance once more it had left behind an unordered amorphous mass of the substance, drifting with a slight movement of air molecules and then settling at gravity's pull.

It had travelled and tasted and grown and shrunk until it had begun to encounter things of solidity that had inner moisture. It had tasted these things also, and it had known that its desire would soon be fulfilled.

oOo

The Jumper lifted off and flew away into the blood-tinged night. John eased his pack on his sore shoulders and looked down at the LSD in his hand.

"Where is it?"

John pointed along the track toward the farm. Fren and Grella's farm, where they lived with their four children: Maddy, Tallen, Ellet and Penda. They started walking. John stumbled over the hardened cart ruts and angled his P90 down to light their way.

"Sheppard, look at this."

Ronon had stopped at the side of the track, and John saw that there was a tunnel meandering through the forest, littered with a familiar drift of fine grey dust. He touched one of the trees, feeling the smoothly ground texture and seeping moisture where a curved slice of the trunk had been removed.

"We have to stop this," John said.

"We will."

John didn't reply, his thoughts trying to escape, to linger on the people of this close-knit community, and the haven they had provided for himself and his team. He forced himself to stop thinking about them and focus on the task; the consequences of failure didn't bear thinking about and he would not be distracted.

"The signal's coming from that way," said John, pointing off the track and into the trees.

"I want to check the farm."

John looked at the LSD. The signal hadn't moved.

"Okay."

They approached the farm buildings and John felt Ronon's tension, saw the tight muscles in his arm twitching as he gripped his weapon hard.

"They'll be okay, Ronon," he murmured, his eyes on the LSD.

"They better be."

There was no light showing; no candle or lantern or fire light, and John felt some of his tension leave him. They entered the farmyard; doors were open, the livestock gone, and the cart not in the barn.

"They've gone," said Ronon.

"They've taken the kids to the Helg," said John. "Maybe to the Gate." A flicker from the LSD caught his eye. "It's moving off. We need to go."

"Ronon! John!" Two figures burst from the shadows of the barn, one on two feet, one on four. John felt a furry body circling his legs and saw Ronon catch the two-footed figure as she hurled herself onto him.

"Maddy?"

"I was at the Helg! And Tam said there was a fire! And I needed to get home and tell Mam and Dad but they'd gone and then there was something in the forest and Bouddie didn't like it and neither did I and we hid!" Maddy released her grip on Ronon and slid down, but stayed leaning against him, her dirty, tear-stained face turned up to his.

"Did you see it?" he asked.

"No… I… It was big, but… I don't know, I couldn't see, like it wasn't really there. We ran," she said, looking slightly shame-faced.

"You did the right thing, Maddy." John looked again at the LSD. "I've gotta get after it. Give me your C4."

Ronon hesitated.

"You need to get Maddy to safety," John insisted. "Gimme all the C4, I need to go!"

Ronon shook his head, but complied, emptying the contents of his pack into John's.

"I don't like this, Sheppard."

"I don't love it," said John, with a hollow flicker of a smile. He shouldered the heavy pack once more, checked the LSD and looked briefly at Ronon, neither of them needing to put into words what they felt. A terse jerk of a nod, and John turned and began a jogging pursuit of the trace on the LSD.

oOo

Rodney had never been more grateful for the Jumpers' high speed flight capability; the continent flashed beneath them within seconds, leaving behind the glowing wings of flame that spread across the dark forest, the glimmer of moonlight on the marsh, and beyond, much further beyond, until the moon reflected in a myriad of tiny wrinkles that were the surface of the ocean. The thought of plunging the Jumper beneath this surface would normally have given Rodney pause, which is to say, he would have refused outright. On this occasion, he slowed the Jumper slightly, turned to Teyla in the co-pilot's seat for a brief glance of reassurance on her part, and a sickly smile on his, and plunged the vehicle into the waves. No disaster having ensued, he opened his eyes and shakily brought up the HUD.

"Directly beneath us," he said.

"That was good flying, Rodney," Teyla smiled.

"Thank you. Yes. Not bad. Um… I'll take us down in a spiral and we can check out how deeply it's buried.

"The 'waffle'," said Teyla.

"CCM," mumbled Rodney.

They descended, the Jumper's lights barely penetrating the murky water. Rodney monitored the HUD.

"Hmm."

"Rodney?"

"Ten thousand years. That's a lot of sediment."

"It is deeply buried?"

"Oh, yes," said Rodney, dryly. He studied the HUD, tapping his fingers nervously on the console. "Okay," he said, steadying himself. "Okay, I'm just going to go ahead and do this! Time waits for no man and so on!"

"Rodney, what are you…?"

A streak of yellow shot out into the darkness and down, disappearing from sight. A second later there was a dull rumble beneath them and the water became clouded with rising bubbles and debris. Rodney released a short, slightly hysterical laugh.

"I think that's done it!"

"You used a drone. Was that not risky?"

"Yes! Yes, it was, but, you know, needs must and all that! And I was careful! I sent it in at a shallow angle to break up the layer of sediment. Now, let's have a closer look."

The visibility worsened as Rodney took the Jumper down toward the ocean bed, where, he hoped, the Waffle, (CCM, he reminded himself) lay intact. He relied on the HUD to navigate and descended until the Jumper was nosing its way through semi-solid detritus.

"I think that's about as far as we can go with that strategy," said Rodney.

"How far below us is the Waffle?"

"Not far, but I need to aim for a Jumper port and it's still pretty blocked."

"The drone did not cause damage?"

"No. That is, I don't think so."

The HUD displayed an outline diagram of the Waffle, huge and flat, apart from its central section, and apparently undisturbed and undamaged. Rodney tried to make his mental commands to the Jumper crystal clear; he changed their orientation, so that the rear hatch was aimed in the right direction and then he altered the settings on the inertial dampeners so that the Jumper sank down and anchored itself in the soft sediment. Short bursts of power to the thrusters created swirling clouds all around them and blew sediment out of the way until there was a clear path to their rear. Rodney reversed, recognised that the Jumper was homing in on its port, and brought it into the dock, with only a small grating crunch as the remaining sediment was forced out of the way.

"The eagle has landed," said Rodney. "Now we get to find out if the airlock still works."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

There was a shadow by his side, silently present, moving where he moved, following his lead for now, yet projecting her authority as alpha; his consent or denial to her presence would not be respected, or even acknowledged.

"Hey, Bouddie," John said.

She flicked an ear, not breaking her steady, loping stride. John wished his heavy jog were as effortless; his earlier run down the mountain and across the jagged plateau had taken a lot out of him and more running was the last thing he needed. Also, he suspected, but had omitted to mention his team, that a cracked rib lurked beneath the bruise on his chest, so that with each breath he took, it felt like he'd been stabbed. It was fine though, he told himself; ribs were only dangerous when they were completely broken and sticking in places where they didn't belong. This hurt, but it would be fine, so he should just ignore it.

John's glance flicked to the LSD, bouncing before him in one hand, his other hand on his P90. The white dot was still moving away, faster than he could run. He stopped, his lungs heaving, his chest burning, and leant against a tree; he'd never catch the thing at this rate. The sky ahead of him was a lowering red-brown and John wondered why Salem was heading in the direction of the wildfire.

"Pro'bly gonna fan the flames," he rasped.

Boudicca looked up at him and rubbed her sleek fur against his legs.

"What the hell is that thing, Bouddie?" he asked, forcing himself into a staggering jog once more, the pack full of C4 feeling like a bag of lead on his back. It occurred to him that he could no longer see any damage to the surrounding trees; there were no signs of Salem's passage and John wouldn't have been able to track it without the LSD.

"Salem," he said. "Stupid name... But who'd have guessed?" He drew several heaving breaths, tasting smoke. "McKay and Sabrina the teenage witch?" he coughed. Then he came to a stumbling halt.

"Wait, Bouddie! It's stopped! It's coming back!"

His eyes on the LSD, John slid off his pack which the priss sniffed at and then sneezed in distaste.

"Okay, it's coming our way." He opened the pack, hesitated, and then closed it again. "I'll just heave the whole lot at it, and then," he patted a pocket of his tac vest, "we'll try adding a grenade to the mix."

John felt that he had rarely stood on shakier ground, tactically; he had no idea what Salem's capabilities were. Could it sense him? Was it even now tracking him? Your traditional ambush involved finding cover and then surprising your enemy; John wouldn't be surprised if this thing had x-ray vision, or infrared, or whatever, which would make cover pointless and surprise impossible. Nevertheless, he watched the trace on the LSD and hid behind a tree. Boudicca sat on his feet.

"A little space, please?"

She edged behind him and leant against his legs. John peered around the tree trunk, his pack resting on the ground but firmly gripped in both of his hands. The sky glowed a brighter orange and in the distance John thought he could hear the crack of falling timber. He blinked into the unnatural colours of the flame-lit night; trees clad in the yellows and oranges of the Fall, trunks and branches edged red on black. It was a sinister, hellish scene. John blinked again; the trees had appeared to shift. The ground seemed to furrow slightly as if a wave had passed through it, but beneath John's feet it felt solid and secure. Boudicca hissed. He glanced down at her and saw her teeth bared and her fur standing on end. There was a movement and a ripple in the air and a shimmer, and before John's bewildered gaze there was a huge rock, then nothing, then a seething mass of grit and soil and then again nothing; then the whole area was a churning confusion of rock, wood, water and leaf.

John tasted his fear, felt the shock of sudden, cold sweat, and shook with the hurtling patter of his frantic heart; but still, his determination to protect the people of this world made him step out from behind the tree and hurl his loaded pack into the terrifying, unnatural creature. Without conscious thought, his grenade was in his hand and the pin was pulled. He waited; then he threw the grenade and dived back behind the tree, crouching down and holding Boudicca close.

oOo

Teyla asked a question, with full awareness that, from anyone else it would be met with the usual scorn, if not derision; safe in the knowledge that, to her, Rodney would not dare, she proceeded.

"How will the airlock doors open if the Waffle lacks power?"

She saw the jabbing response sharply bitten back. He answered, with the pretense of infinite patience, "Because when we docked, I was immediately able to set up an interface with the Waffle, thus allowing me access to the controls and temporarily allowing the Waffle to draw power from the Jumper."

"Most satisfactory," she said, thinking forbearance should be rewarded. "Can we safely lower the hatch?"

"I believe we can, if you'd like to do the honours!"

The hatch lowered into the airlock. There was a small puddle of water on the floor, but nothing more; it appeared the mechanism worked and the seals had held. Teyla felt another 'stupid question' coming on; Rodney was tapping at his laptop, accessing the controls for the inner door.

"Why is an airlock necessary? Is the Waffle designed to be submerged?"

"What? Oh, yes, actually, yes it is! Anything from deep sea to the high upper atmosphere." He paused, studying his screen closely, frowning and continued, absently, "Designed to seek out and oxidise methane wherever it may lurk..."

"Will the door not open, Rodney?"

"Hmm? Door? No, that's easy." He tapped the laptop once, and with a hiss of equalising pressure, the door swung open. Rodney set off purposefully into the passageway that stretched ahead, the plain white walls lit by overhead striplights.

"Simple enough layout," he said, marching forward. Teyla's knee felt stiff and she struggled to keep up. "Bridge to the left," he said passing a heavy bulkhead door, "Crew quarters to the right, and..." They reached the head of a descending companionway. "Flooded power room below," Rodney finished, with a heavy sigh.

Teyla looked down into the rippling water, which lapped gently a few steps below her feet. It was remarkably clear and she could see light shining from beneath.

"There is power running to the lower deck," she said.

"Yes, but there's also a breach in the hull." Rodney squatted down to look more closely at the surface of the water. "It doesn't come all the way up to this deck; there's space to breathe."

oOo

Ronon jogged steadily, matching his pace to Maddy's; he knew she could run a good way, but there was no desperate hurry so he didn't urge her to greater speed.

"Bouddie's gone with John," she said.

"Yeah."

"I was playing with the prissets, 'n' Tam said about the fire..." She paused, running out of breath. "She left the little'uns with Franca and came with me."

"They'll eat the helgets," remarked Ronon.

"No, they won't, cos Bouddie told 'em not to!"

"They'll run off."

"No, they'll do as she told 'em." Then, with a grin, "They're not like me!"

Ronon grinned back. Then he stopped and Maddy skidded to a halt beside him.

"What?"

Through a break in the trees, Ronon could see, further down the hill they were descending, a bright flicker of flame and rising tendrils of smoke. He observed the swirling tendrils and looked up at the scattered moonlit clouds.

"Wind's changing," he said. "This way isn't safe."

"Fire rises; we need to go downhill."

"Not this way."

"That way, then, to the mountain road. They'll be widening it to make more of a break. Dad'll be there and those without little'uns to look after."

Ronon nodded. "Let's go."

They set off on their new course, two shadows passing through the forest, tall and short together.

oOo

Boudicca grumbled and squirmed in John's arms. He let go. Her golden eyes gazed into his and he received a message of deep scepticism.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said. There had been no explosion. The forest was silent, the smell of smoke thicker on the air. John scrambled up and edged his way round the tree trunk. There was nothing there, the forest floor entirely undisturbed. John fished the LSD out of his pants pocket and was in time to see a white blip flicker off the edge of the screen.

"So... What does that mean? I scared it off? Gave it indigestion? Fed it a tasty snack?" His shoulders slumped wearily. He coughed and reached for his canteen, took a drink and then crouched down and poured a stream into his cupped palm for Boudicca to drink. She lapped, watching John, and then sat back on her haunches, continuing to regard him steadily.

"I think I've blown it," he said tiredly, screwing the top back on the canteen and clipping it onto his vest. He massaged the tight muscles at the back of his neck with one hand, feeling sharp jabs of pain in his chest. "I don't know where to go with this one, Bouddie. That thing... What do you do against something like that?"

The priss put her head on one side and flicked an ear.

"Yeah, I did my best. Huh. Not good enough, though, was it?"

Boudicca's whiskers twitched. She moved forward and butted him in the face with her head, then prodded him in the chest with one paw.

"Ow! What was that for?" John suddenly sprang to his feet. The air was cloudy with smoke and in the distance he could hear crackling and the crash of a falling tree. He looked at the priss, knowing he had the best guide to the forest. She growled, flicked her tail and loped off into the trees. John followed.

oOo

"We should remove our clothes," said Teyla.

"Yes, I suppose," agreed Rodney, hoping that Teyla would at least retain her underwear, if only to spare his blushes; Athosians seemed to have a pretty relaxed attitude to nakedness. He went over the plan again, as a distraction, while he undressed.

"We swim along the surface until we're directly over the ZPM port. I dive down, release the spent one, come back up, take the fresh one, you go down and pull out the old one and I put in the new. If I have enough breath, I'll activate it at the control panel, if not I'll have to make another dive."

He shuffled awkwardly in just his blue and white-striped boxers.

"The water's probably just a shade above freezing," he said.

"I have had to swim in very cold water before, Rodney. I know what to expect."

"Cold shock, hyperventilation, loss of co-ordination, cramps," he listed.

"It must be done."

"Yes. It must," he agreed, unhappily. "You hold the ZPM, while I get in."

Teyla picked up the precious device. Rodney gave her a jerky nod, turned, jogged in place, puffed air out through his lips and then ran down the stairway and into the icy water.

He couldn't prevent his huge gasp as the cold bit into his skin, and his breath continued fast and shallow, his heart racing as his body tried to cope with the shock. He thrashed around, bitter salt entered his mouth, and then his sore wrist hit something and the extra pain together with Teyla's insistent voice managed to penetrate his panic.

"Rodney!"

He turned toward the anchoring voice and his eyes locked onto Teyla's face.

"Rodney, take it!" She held out the ZPM and he saw his arms reach out and grasp it. He pulled it to his chest, the hard edges of the crystal digging into his skin. Teyla entered the water and the shock hit her; she struggled, gasping and wide-eyed.

"Teyla! This way!"

She gave a shuddering nod and Rodney turned and, kicking awkwardly, the ZPM heavy in his arms, he propelled himself along, his head just a couple of inches below the ceiling. He realised that the water had begun to feel quite pleasant; he wasn't fooled. His body would be diverting heat to vital organs; soon enough he'd feel the cold again and then the weakness, the lack of co-ordination.

"Here! I think this is right!" He trod water, his head tipped up, body jerking from side to side.

"I will take it, Rodney." He slid the ZPM into Teyla's arms, took several deep breaths and jack-knifed, thrusting his body down into the water, the salt stinging his eyes, a steady stream of bubbles popping from his nose. He homed in on the Ancient console, the crystals' clear, white inner light beckoning. Reaching out, his fingers grasped the edge of the console, but slid off, his natural buoyancy pulling him to the surface. Rodney kicked hard, his lungs already straining, feeling the chill beginning to seep into his bones. He gripped the console firmly, anchoring himself, ignored the pain in his wrist and slapped the sequence of crystals that should release the spent ZPM. As his vision began to haze, he let go of the console and kicked for the surface, catching a glimpse of a vague cylindrical shape rising out of the central panel.

He broke the surface, lungs bursting and wheezed and spluttered as Teyla thrust the live ZPM into his arms once more and disappeared beneath the surface. Rodney kicked his legs as vigorously as he could, thinking the viscosity of the water had increased suddenly and realising that his limbs felt heavy and his thoughts were becoming confused. Teyla erupted out of the water.

"It is out," she said. "I dropped it."

"Fine, 'ts fine." His lips wouldn't move properly. Rodney tucked the ZPM under one arm, took a deep breath and dived down again; he couldn't achieve the power to propel himself down and broke the surface, coughing.

"Rodney?"

_Now or never, _he thought and jack-knifed and kicked and pulled with his free arm, forcing his way down into the life-sapping depths. His fingers found the edge of the ZPM port. He clung on, and tried to orient the device with his other hand, but couldn't grip its broad base, and felt it slipping. Panicking, he almost took a breath, but then there was a hand on his shoulder and together he and Teyla manoeuvred the ZPM into place. Rodney didn't wait to slide it home; he trusted Teyla to do that while he pulled himself over to the control console and flapped feebly at the crystals. He couldn't remember the sequence. Yes he could. He needed to breathe. He had to activate the ZPM. No, he'd done that; it was glowing. Was it? Rodney felt an arm around his chest and he was pulled away from the console and up. He fought as he broke the surface.

"No! No! I didn't... It isn't..."

"Rodney! It is done!"

"Is it?"

"Yes, need to get out! Come! Kick! Yes, R'dney, you're moving! Keep going!"

Rodney focussed on Teyla's words and kicked as well as he was able, hearing her encouraging, trembling, increasingly slurred words. He felt a hard surface before him and was distantly aware that Teyla couldn't possibly carry him and that getting out was only going to happen by his own efforts. He wallowed and heaved against the stairs, pushed up on his arms, fell back, pushed with his feet and felt water draining from his back and air against his skin. The weight of his body was immense, his exhaustion frightening but he kept moving, kept fighting until he had hauled himself completely onto the upper deck. He lay still, almost too tired to breathe, knowing he needed to move, that John and Ronon and all the people of this planet were depending on him.

oOo

"It's no good, Maddy, there's no way through!"

Ronon held his hand up in front of his face, an inadequate shield against the fierce heat of the flames.

"But Dad's this way! And the others! We can get through!"

"No!" He took the little girl's hand and pulled her away. "No, we can't! Now, think, Maddy! You know this forest, probably better than anyone except the animals. Where can we go?"

Maddy stumbled along next to Ronon, sniffing. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"There's a cave," she said, doubtfully. "The prissen use it sometimes. 'S not very big."

"Is it far?"

She shrugged. "No, but it won't make no difference how far it is, soon. Forest's burning."

Ronon squeezed her hand.

"I told you. McKay'll fix it. He's good with things like that."

Maddy sniffed again. "Even when everything's really bad?"

"Especially then."

oOo

The wind had changed and the leading edge of the wildfire seemed to race toward John, the intense heat reddening his left cheek. He felt like he could feel the hairs on his arm singeing.

"Boudicca, stop!"

She flicked her tail and sped up and he tried to keep up with her, weaving in and out of the trees, leaping fallen wood, stumbling into hidden pits. The flames were not rushing as fast as they would have on open scrubland, the mature trees slowing them down, but even so, John didn't see how they could escape by running parallel to the flames. Could they run through the leading edge to the burnt ground beyond? It would be a huge risk. He glanced to his right and saw yellow flame that way too; the wind must have carried burning embers away to start more pockets of wildfire that would soon take hold and spread.

John felt the ground begin to climb and he slowed, exhausted, his chest searing with pain, his lungs choking with smoke. Boudicca gave an encouraging yowl from somewhere ahead, barely to be heard above the roar of the conflagration. He realised the ground had levelled off and then it started to drop, steeply, and John's weary legs couldn't control his descent. He fell and crashed down between the trees, his tac vest catching on briars and then ripping free, his P90 flying up and hitting him in the face. With a thump that left him winded, John landed, sprawled on his front and felt a snap and a flood of pain in his chest. He coughed and couldn't stop and pushed himself over so he was lying on one side, but still he coughed and choked and couldn't breathe. He began to panic, his legs and arms flailing, felt the firmness of a rock at his back and kicked against the ground until he was more or less upright. He could breathe; rasping and labouring, he managed to draw air into his lungs and shakily push it out, feeling the bubble of liquid. He wiped his mouth and it was dark and he couldn't see, but he could smell blood.

"Bouddie..." He coughed and wheezed in and out. "Bouddie, you there?"

The priss didn't come; John didn't believe she'd left him - why didn't she come? The fire on the ridge far above lit up the night sky, but not much light penetrated down to where he'd fallen. He couldn't see the forest about him and blinked and squinted, wondering if this was it; was his vision fading, was he near the end? The dim scene blurred again and John saw a swirling shape in front of his pain-clouded eyes; the impression of rock, then sand, then the turn and twist of leaves, like an eddy that played with leaves on a windy day.

"Come to finish me off?" he croaked, and spat as his mouth filled with blood.

The creature, that was more alien than anything John had ever known, moved nearer. A tentacle-like twist of its something-and-nothing form reached out toward him, and he believed that this was it: his death. John would not let himself close his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"I haven't got time for this!"

Rodney slammed the controls into reverse again and gave it a quick burst of power, feeling the Waffle rock in place. Forward, then another burst, reverse then another; Rodney felt like a truck driver, trying to get his rig out of the mud. He was still shivering, cold down to his soul, but even so, better than the popsicle he'd been not long ago, he thought. Another cycle of forward and reverse and then there was a massive lurch (inefficient inertial dampeners, he wrote, in the margin of his mind) and the waffle overcame the sediment's suction and heaved its enormous form off the ocean bed.

"Aha!"

"Are you free to take this now, Rodney?" Teyla had been heating MREs and Rodney desperately wanted to say yes and swallow down whatever was cooking in as few enormous gulps as possible.

"No! Not yet. I need to get it to the surface and align the array vertically; make sure its going to work." He glanced at Teyla, sidelong. "I don't suppose...?"

She scooped up a generous sporkful and posted it into his mouth. Bliss, whatever it was supposed to be. Rodney opened the vents to the water tanks, filling them to capacity, then converted Ancient units to Earth standard, to assess exactly what that capacity was. He raised his eyebrows at the total, impressed. Teyla inserted another sporkful and the Waffle began to breach the surface of the waves. Rodney felt and heard the change in the beat of the thrusters as the resistance lessened and, as the far edge of the circular Waffle emerged, he saw, through the viewscreen of the control pod, a line of light shine out in the darkness. Rodney raised the pod higher, away from the leaping waves and then triggered the pivot, so that the lit edge gradually fell away out of view and the giant array was vertical. Rodney allowed his tense muscles to relax and his mouth curved into a smile.

"Set course for the forest," he said, his hands flicking over the controls briefly, "and, it's time to feed that physicist!" He pushed at the base of the console with one sock-clad toe and the pilot's seat spun smoothly round bringing his hands within convenient range of the MRE and spork. Teyla smiled and sat down in the co-pilot's chair with her own meal.

"Are you getting warmer, Rodney?"

"Hmm," he said, nodding and chewing. "Still shivery, though."

"I will make some hot drinks. We have enough fresh water."

"Yes. Fresh. Huh," Rodney said, tapping his spork on the edge of his pouch, his enthusiasm waning.

"It is the best we can do, Rodney," Teyla said softly. "There is no sufficiently large body of fresh water within range. And it will put out the fire."

"Yes. And 'sow the earth with salt'. Very biblical," he said bitterly.

Teyla sighed. "The land will recover. They will understand it was the only way."

"Yes. I know," said Rodney. He wondered what other ravages the land and the people would have to cope with and hoped John's plan had worked.

oOo

The small creature lay, unmoving, and an appendage was formed to investigate. It touched the dark outer layer that covered the creature and it tasted complexity, unlike any substance it had yet encountered; fine strands and filaments of delicate chemicals arranged and bound, with apparent intention, in a dense matrix almost like rock, but able to flex and bend. Yet it was not a precious thing; it did not have a flow of liquid running through it or the ability to change or grow. The material was taken and the pattern stored within, to be pondered and replicated and yes, enjoyed.

This little creature before it, that trembled under its scrutiny; this small thing through which liquid rushed and rhythm pulsed - what was it? It had met this creature before and suddenly there had been interesting samples; strange convolutions of the simple building blocks of the world, with interesting properties. So, it had sought the creature once more, allowed itself to be pulled from its work of studying and cataloguing this strange place to which it had felt such a strong vocation.

The creature's rhythm hastened and some of its liquid seemed to be leaking. The appendage pressed and felt more fine filaments, but these were not made; they had grown. It pushed further, easing its presence between the molecules of the creature's being, and the creature began to cause the air around it to vibrate strongly.

This, the Guardian realised, as it felt the life within, was a Precious Thing. This was one that it must protect. It felt the creature struggle and the air vibrations increased. Another appendage was needed; one was swiftly produced and employed to still the creature while order was being restored, because it had quickly understood the pattern of this little thing and that the pattern was quite seriously disrupted. It worked efficiently and then withdrew. The creature was now limp and unresponsive, although its flow and pulse were as good as they might be, considering it had suffered damage. And, now that the Precious Thing had been identified, the knowledge that there were more of them, and that the state of this place was not one of acceptable equilibrium, was swiftly borne in upon the Guardian's newly-awakened consciousness. This little one would have to manage. The Guardian left, full of new knowledge of what must be done.

oOo

There was softness in his face and warmth and heaviness over and around him, and for a while John lay, with no idea where he was, or why, and no desire to find out. He lay and breathed and simply existed in sweet lethargy, his mind a placid place of cloudy acceptance. Inevitably, this peaceful time was not to last. He became aware of a dull ache in his chest and a metallic taste in his mouth, the clouds in his mind suddenly dissipated and he shot to his feet, heart pounding, pressing himself into the rock at his back in fear and dizziness, shaking hands reaching automatically for his P90; it wasn't there.

John looked down and saw a small, jagged lump of metal dangling from his sling. Beneath it, most of the front of his tac vest was missing, and a ragged circle of his t-shirt, and beneath that, his skin, unbruised, unmarked and, he realised, as he rubbed it with his fingertips, wonderingly, free of all but a faint ghost of pain. Boudicca looked up at him, her golden eyes reflecting his wonder and projecting a certain amount of shame.

"I thought..." he began, his voice raw and shaky. "I thought it..." He rubbed his chest again, and closed his eyes, remembering the tentacle-like projection coming toward him, remembering pain that was like being fed on by a Wraith, his life force being ripped from his chest. His legs felt weak and he dropped to his knees and then his arms were full of warmth and comfort, and he clung on and allowed a few shuddering, relief-laden sobs to escape.

He pulled away, sat back against the rock and felt for his canteen, which, mercifully, hadn't been dissolved or eaten or absorbed, or whatever. He took a mouthful of water, spat out the taste of blood, drank and then gave some water to Boudicca.

"I don't blame you," he said. "I would've hid if I could."

She blinked.

"Yeah." He rubbed his chest again. "I thought so too. End of the line, for sure. I wonder..." He patted at the remains of his tac vest, and fished out a mangled power bar, which he unwrapped and broke in half, offering a piece to Boudicca. She sniffed, sneezed, then took it delicately from his hand and swallowed it whole. "That desperate?" John asked, consuming his piece with almost as much eagerness and far less elegance.

"Okay," he said, swallowing, "here's the sitrep."

Boudicca sat up, in regal pose, a commanding officer ready to take his report. John smiled. He looked up the slope that he had tumbled down and could see only starry night through the trees. The sky glowed red further west, but the glade where he sat was lit only by the brightness of the full moon.

"No present danger from wildfire," he reported. "Enemy force... turned out not to be an enemy at all. In fact, I think maybe the Ancients got it right this time." John paused, and couldn't meet the golden eyes. "I think, maybe, this time, I got it right too," he said, softly, with emotion that he couldn't quite suppress. "Instead of releasing a whole pack of devils, this thing might turn out to be one of the good guys." He'd been going to say 'an angel' but didn't want to sound too sappy. "It's gonna need a new name, that's for sure."

The priss nodded her approval, but John shook himself slightly and made an effort to return to dispassionate, military efficiency.

"Uh... available firepower." He regarded the stump of his P90 with annoyance. "Another one bites the dust. But the Para's still hanging in there," he said, patting his thigh holster. "Only one clip, though." John turned his thoughts, reluctantly, to his own condition. "Not that I'm not grateful, or anything," he said, easing himself painfully to his feet,"but it woulda been nice if my Guardian Angel did a full service. Although..." He recalled the excruciating pain involved in the process of repairing his broken ribs and punctured lung, "maybe not."

John felt the lump on his brow and the crusted, dried blood from where his late lamented P90 had swung up and hit him. He flexed his arms and legs, feeling the sting of cuts, the throb of bruises and the tight pull of various strained muscles. There was nothing that was in itself serious, but they all added up to irritatingly relentless discomfort and, apart from this, was the dragging, batteries-dry, tank-drained exhaustion which made staying awake, let alone staying upright and moving, almost impossible.

"Good to go, then," said John, with bleary-eyed optimism. He yawned.

oOo

Ronon had emptied his canteen on Maddy's hair and clothes to try to protect her from sparks. His own skin was marked with scattered burns and it was only Maddy shrieking and dragging him down to bat at his head that had saved his hair from catching fire. The flames were closing in on either side and, looking over his shoulder, Ronon saw that there was no safety behind them either. A flaming branch fell in their path and Ronon picked Maddy up and jumped over it. The wildfire was too fast; they weren't going to make it. He would cover her; he would cover Maddy with his body and maybe, just maybe the flames would pass over quickly, so that she, at least, would survive.

"Get down!"

"What? No!"

He forced her to the ground and used his weight to hold her there, while she cried out and struggled.

"Ronon, no, you can't! You can't! We'll keep running!"

"No! It's too late! Keep still and tuck your arms and legs in!"

"No!" Maddy worked her arms free and hit out at Ronon, fought and bit and scratched like a wild thing.

"Keep still or I'll stun you!" Ronon's desperate glare bored into Maddy's tear-filled, heartbroken eyes. She kept still, sniffing and gulping as the flames roared and crackled and death surrounded them. "Curl up tight and I'll cover you," he said, trying to steady his voice. "You wait, until the fire's passed and then wait some more cos everything'll be hot. Got it?"

Maddy nodded and then threw her arms around Ronon's neck and, clinging tightly, whispered in his ear. Then she let go and curled herself up; like a tiny mouse, he thought, and closed his eyes and curled his body over the little girl, spending his life, he hoped, to buy hers.

The heat grew and Ronon tried not to gasp in pain as he felt his skin scorch and his clothes begin to smoulder. He held himself still, rigid, and it flashed into his mind that this passive death was the hardest he could have imagined; many times, he thought he'd die fighting, killing the enemy, making them pay. The fire wouldn't pay; it would take his life and use it to fuel its destruction and then, heedless, it would rage on. Ronon squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried to remember a long-forgotten prayer.

And then there was silence and darkness and the searing heat was gone and he thought: _Is this death? _

"Ronon?"

Maddy's small voice came from beneath him.

"Ronon? What's happening?"

He didn't answer because he didn't know.

"Ronon! Has the fire gone? Are you...? Are you...?" She couldn't finish and he felt her body begin to heave with sobs.

"No! Maddy, I'm here!" He sat up and, feeling about him in the darkness, drew her close to him and they clung together, blinking and confused; no roar of flame, no pain, their farewell to each other and Ronon's to life, derailed and diverted into this strange, quiet limbo.

He felt Maddy's trembling ease, her small, rapid breaths slow and, he thought, for just a minute or two, she slept, in the manner of a child whose mind and body has been pushed too far. Then she stirred and wriggled.

"Where are we?"

Ronon drew his blaster and by its very dim light, he could see that they were entirely enclosed, as if a shell or a dome had suddenly grown over them. The forest floor around them was still hot, but seemed to be cooling fast and Ronon felt the air cooling too and his sweat drying on his seared skin.

Maddy looked around and then stood. She reached up and, even on her tiptoes her fingers only just brushed the underside of the dome. The grey, rock-like surface shimmered briefly and Ronon had a brief, and quite grotesque, impression of fluid skin, tiny brown hairs and pieces of bone, before the surface became rock-like once more. Maddy shrieked and then gasped and laughed and did it again, with the same result.

Ronon aimed his blaster at the area and Maddy, seeing this, said: "Don't shoot it! It's saying hello!"

"What?"

"It's the thing that was in the woods and I was silly and ran away. It's a friend and it rescued us!"

Ronon regarded her, brows beetling, deeply sceptical. "Why do you think that was it saying hello?" He flicked his blaster at the rounded ceiling.

"Well... I s'pose because it's not like us, and, it can't talk, but it's worked out what we are... so, it's saying, 'I know you!'" She jumped up and down and yelled, "Hello! Hello! Hello! Thank you!"

Her voice was deafening in the confined space and Ronon put his hands over his ears. Then, the shell slowly withdrew and warm air rushed over them, and around them the charred, blackened forest smouldered and glowed, but no longer burned. Their rescuer was a moving, swirling shadow of smooth and rough, dark and light, so that where your eyes fell on a particular feature, suddenly it was no longer there.

"Uh... Thanks," said Ronon. The creature flickered once like lightning running through a storm cloud, then it was gone.

oOo

"I believe there is an area still burning, Rodney," said Teyla.

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm coming round for another pass." Rodney muttered under his breath, "Missed a bit, missed a bit... What am I? A painter and decorator? Here comes the roller." He vented the water tanks once more and imagined the cascade hurtling down from the sky and dowsing the relentless flames below. "That's the lot," he said. "Tanks are empty."

They both studied the HUD, which had been set to display infra-red. The steep temperature gradients of advancing wildfire were all gone, the display more stable, with many slowly altering patches of colour which indicated cooling ground

"Will it be enough?" Teyla asked.

Rodney shrugged, massaged his brow over a well-established headache, and made a small, unhappy, indeterminate sound.

"Probably not. The ground's absorbed a lot of heat; there's a nice, helpful little breeze going on down there. Tiny spark? Meet friendly breeze! Then, whoosh! Up it goes again." Rodney slumped, elbows on the console, face in hands.

"There is a song my people sing to bring rain in dry years," said Teyla, softly.

Rodney didn't move, but his muffled voice forced its way out between his palms. "I'm up for anything, at this stage, tuneless caterwauling not excepted. Mine, that is, I'm sure your cater-, er, singing, would be beautiful."

Teyla did not sing, however. "If only the Ancients had thought to build a rain-making machine," she said.

Rodney didn't reply, but her words lit a small, hopeful lightbulb in his weary mind. He sat up.

"Rain-making," he said. Then, with increasing excitement, "Cloud-seeding!" He stood up, his fingers snapping, his tiredness forgotten, optimism springing to life. "What do we need?" he snapped at Teyla.

"Water, Rodney. Rain!"

"And what do we have?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Carbon dioxide! We have CO2 as a product of methane oxidation! And what can you do with solid CO2?" Rodney's words continued to tumble out as he sat back in the pilot's seat and brought the Waffle into a steep, spiralling ascent. "Seed clouds, Teyla! You can seed clouds and make it rain!"

"Seed clouds? There are seeds that grow rain?"

"No, it's just called seeding, because you need something to start the process; in our case, solid CO2, commonly known as dry ice! If we take her up to the edge of the troposphere, say ten kilometres, the temperature should be cold enough for CO2 to form as a solid, then we just have to find a suitable cloud. Please, let there be a cloud!"

He slapped at the console and brought up a different display. "Atmospheric water vapour! Keep an eye on that, Teyla; we want a cumulonimbus cloud. One of the big puffy ones, preferably a big one with a flat top!"

"Yes, Rodney," said Teyla, eagerly. Their eyes met, both shadowed with toil and weariness, but both now alive with reviving hope. "If you can do this, it will be a miracle."

"Yes, well, it will, but... You know I probably would have drowned down there without you, so... I think we can say that today the miracles are on us!"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Ronon carried Maddy on his back, her head lolling on his shoulder, asleep. Though weary and in pain from numerous burns, he was content to be in the present moment, where he was alive and she was alive, and somewhere there would be food and a bed.

He thought about the huge, silver-edged circle that he'd seen floating high above the burning trees and the deluge of water that had hurtled down from it to drown the flames. Rodney's plan had worked. Ronon didn't know what the ultimate effect of all the seawater would be; not good, he thought. But at least the fires were out, as far as he could tell.

He trudged on through the forest, through burnt areas where heat still lingered and those lucky, untouched green havens where, he sensed, many forest animals had found sanctuary. And at last, in the very early pre-dawn greyness, he met the main forest track and found it occupied with a long, winding trail of men and women, mounted one or two to slowly plodding helgs; dirty, exhausted and stunned by the night's events.

A man turned at his emergence from the forest and pulled up his mount.

"Ronon!" It was Tam, on the young helg, Tayko. "Ronon, lad! And, who's that? Maddy?" Tam shouted further down the column. "Fren! Your Maddy's here!"

A grey figure broke out of the column and kicked up his helg to trot swiftly toward them, then hurled himself off in a running dismount. Maddy, woken by Tam's shout, slid down from Ronon's back and leapt into her father's arms.

"Maddy! I thought you were safe at the Helg!" He held his daughter close and then released her as she let loose a torrent of words in explanation, most of which were so jumbled as to be unintelligible to Ronon. Fren seemed to get the gist, however. He looked at Ronon and held out his hand.

"Thank you," he said and their brief handshake said more than any forced words could encompass.

"Have you seen it, Dad? The thing!" Maddy waved her arms around to show the whirling mass of their rescuer.

Fren nodded slowly and pushed the brim of his hat up away from his eyes. "I think I have, Mads. Folk have been telling, all night, of strange things. Pate, there, he thought he was a gonner, a tree suddenly falling toward him, and then there was something holding it up, and off he runs. Then Melda and her friends got cut off when the wind changed and all-on-a-sudden there's a flat way through the flames and they walks out, safe-as-you-please!"

"That's it!" said Maddy, jumping up and down. "It's our friend."

"I reckon you're right, Mads," he said, flicking her short curls affectionately. "And I want to hear more, especially about that flying thing that doused the flames, because I'm guessing you know a thing or two about that." He looked at Ronon questioningly and Ronon gave an acknowledging nod. "But how's about we chat as we go, hey? Your Mam'll be frantic!"

Fren mounted the old helg, Snorter, and pulled Maddy up before him. Ronon said he could walk, but Tam insisted that Tayko was well able to take their combined weight.

"Might settle him down, too. He's been nothing but trouble since your Colonel led him into mischief!"

Ronon smiled briefly, but wondered how their rescuer would have reacted to Sheppard hurling explosives at it. He mounted Tayko, behind Tam, feeling as if he could sleep where he sat. He'd find out what had happened to his team leader soon enough.

oOo

Rodney had both succeeded and failed, John thought, as he foggily trailed Boudicca through the charred ruins, his legs seeming to move of their own accord, his eyes fixed on the priss's upraised tail, his anchor in a sea of pain and exhaustion. He had watched the stately progress of the magnificent circular array (to which the name 'Waffle' really didn't do justice, if he was honest); he had seen the water fall in streaming torrents to meet and quench the flames and he had even heard the hiss and sizzle and seen billowing clouds of steam rise from the hot earth. But he had also felt the residual heat and stamped futilely at glowing embers, as his boots, their soles melting, had crunched over the charcoal-dry ground. In places he had had to stagger and strain under Boudicca's weight where there was nowhere for her to tread that would not burn her paws. He stumbled and faltered and, though he knew that dawn was fast approaching and that soon the sun would rise and a new day begin, he did not feel a lift in his heart that the lightening sky would normally bring.

John realised, hazily, that Boudicca had led him into an untouched area of the forest and he was aware of twitches and stirrings all around, as if the green, growing areas held twice as much life as usual. He looked up and was vaguely surprised to see a pair of furrens, standing up on their hindlegs, noses twitching, their bright eyes regarding him inquisitively as he passed. They were like a couple waiting to cross a road, he thought, and wondered if the forest animals had declared some kind of temporary amnesty.

He laboured on, his lungs wheezing from inhaled dust and smoke, his eyes itchy, feeling the grime and grit, the blood and sweat, dry and crusted on his skin. His mind flew to the image of a blissful shower, the water gently falling, washing away the dirt and care and exhaustion. And slowly, wonderingly, he realised he could indeed hear the soft pattering of falling drops of water. He stopped and looked around and saw leaves bobbing up and down under the steady drips that had filtered through the canopy. John held out his arms. A drop fell and mixed with the soot on his skin and slid off to one side, creating a long track in the dirt and grime. Another fell and then another and John looked up to see a steady fall, a flurry of drops which landed all around him and on him, running down his upturned face, washing away his despair and replacing it with hope. Through the gaps in the canopy John saw the massed clouds and, squinting and blinking against the water in his eyes, far, far above, in tiny, fleeting snatched glimpses, he saw a circular shape. He smiled and felt the blessed moisture run into his mouth and he filled his wheezing lungs and let out a great shout.

"Go, McKay!"

oOo

It had been a night to remember, thought Lil, as she watched the covered wagons trail away down the road, back to their homes; a night of horror, a night of miracles. The forest had burned, but the fires had been put out; lives had been in danger, but had somehow been saved. The water that had fallen from the sky had been salt and they had rejoiced and despaired at once; and then the rain had come. The rain had come to cool and soak the land and perhaps leach away the salt before much could be absorbed.

The firefighters had returned in a long train of tired, confused but hopeful faces, their families that had gathered in front of the pub waking under the covers of their wagons to find rain running down the canvas and their loved-ones come back to them, safe. There was rejoicing and laughter and, although much had been lost, much had also been saved, and those that had lost land or homes would be helped; all would be well. Then there were the tales of miracles; a creature that no-one could adequately describe that had quelled flames and made paths and even lifted folk out of harm's way. And those last few to wearily wend their way to the Helg were telling of the creature ploughing itself through the newly-damp land, and where it had been it left, not blackened remains, but rich, brown earth, ripe for fresh growth. Lil wasn't sure if she believed that; wishful thinking, surely.

Tam had returned to her embrace and with him Ronon and little Maddy, whose lips had continued to move in an attempt to tell her tale after she had fallen asleep in her thankful mother's arms.

Ronon had been asleep on Tayko's back and, when he had refused to be dislodged, Tam had calmly led Tayko into his stall where the helg had lain down and shrugged Ronon off. He had merely mumbled his teammates' names, his eyelids had briefly flickered to take in his surroundings and he had let himself drift off again, seemingly content with his surroundings.

Lil, standing at the threshold of the Happy Helg, watching the last wagon splash away through the puddles, decided she'd better get cooking; there would be appetites aplenty soon. She began to turn away from the misty grey-green morning but then paused and peered out into the rain. There was a movement and a rustle in the trees opposite, and the priss, Boudicca, limped out into the churned-up mud, pressing her paws into the cool softness as if they hurt. Then behind her a tattered figure lurched out of the trees, took a couple of tottering steps and then crumpled to his knees, to plant his hands in the mud also, and drop his head to watch as the wetness oozed up between his fingers.

Lil lifted her shawl up over her head and ran out into the rain.

"John!"

He didn't seem to hear her or even register her presence. Lil crouched down and let go of her shawl and felt the rain wetting her hair and running down her face and her neck. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up.

"'S raining," he slurred.

"Yes, John, it is." She looked at his ravaged clothes and skin, bits of filthy dressings clinging to his arms, a bruise rapidly purpling around a gash in his forehead. "What have you been doing now?" she asked.

His familiar half-smile flickered across his face and then his eyes lost their focus and he slumped sideways. Lil caught him before he slid into the mud and, knowing she hadn't a chance of carrying John into the building herself, looked into the tired yellow eyes of the priss whose fur was now clumped in sopping tufts.

"There's a place by my kitchen fire and as much stew as you can eat, Madam Priss, but I need you to fetch Tirren for me first," she said.

Boudicca blinked, flicked her wet ears and disappeared down the path which led round to the kitchen garden.

"Well, then," she said to the sleeping John, "That's two of you accounted for. Where's the rest of your team?"

oOo

Teyla tried in vain to suppress another yawn. She lowered herself gratefully into the padded comfort of the Jumper's co-pilot's seat and then thought that she should stand up, or she would be sure to fall asleep, and Rodney needed her to keep him awake. Teyla heard the hatch close and then there was the soft whump of something heavy landing in the pilot's seat. She realised her eyes were closed, forced them open and turned her heavy head to the side.

Rodney looked dazed, his eyes dull, but he turned and gave her a tired smile. Then he frowned, his eyebrows crunching together slowly as if even that much movement took a monumental effort.

"What day is it, Teyla?"

"I do not know, Rodney." She made an effort to think. "I believe we set out from Atlantis three days ago."

"Oh. Three. Yes. Three."

"Is that significant?" Teyla gave up trying to suppress her yawns and felt her jaw stretch.

"Uh... Yes. Yes, we should check in. Sam said three days. Didn't she? I think."

Rodney stared apathetically at the on-board DHD.

"I will dial, Rodney," Teyla said, hoping it would keep her awake.

The euphoria of seeing the raindrops falling against the windshield of the Ancient craft and flying back and forth through the developing rainclouds had long since worn off. It was a job very well done, Teyla thought. But now it was time for rest. And food. She blinked, clearing the mist from before her eyes, and dialled the Gate. Soon she was aware of Colonel Carter's voice calling Rodney and then herself and her teammates' names. She looked at Rodney. He was asleep, his face resting on the controls. Teyla stood up and took a few deep breaths.

"Colonel Carter, this is Teyla."

"Teyla! What's happened? Rodney was telling me about a forest fire? Then something about being the Rain Man?"

"I am sorry, Colonel. We are very tired."

"Is Colonel Sheppard there? Do you need assistance?"

"The Colonel is not here. Or Ronon. We are docked with an Ancient craft."

"And the fire? Were there casualties? Do you need a med team?"

"The fire is out," said Teyla. "I believe the planet's inhabitants may be in need of medical assistance."

"And the Colonel and Ronon?"

"We have not heard from them." Teyla sagged against the back of Rodney's seat and felt herself drift.

"Teyla!"

She jumped and pinched herself hard on one arm.

"Yes, Colonel, I am here!"

"Teyla, I'm sending Dr Keller with a med team and I'll send a military team as well."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"Are you and Rodney okay? Is he safe to fly?"

"We are above the forest. It is just a short flight to the Helg." Teyla looked at Rodney, his mouth slack, drooling on the flight controls. "I will keep him awake," she said determinedly.

Sam's worried voice came once more. "I'll see you soon, Teyla. Atlantis out."

Teyla bent down and shook Rodney's shoulder, hard.

"Rodney! Rodney! You must wake up!"

"Go 'way."

"Rodney, the Waffle's autopilot is set! We need to find John and Ronon!"

"'Kay," he said, unmoving.

"Rodney!" Teyla pinched his arm.

"Ow! What? Teyla?" Rodney sat up and blinked crossly.

"Rodney!" she said, bringing out her command voice. "We need to go! Release the docking clamps and take us to the Helg! Now!"

"Oh. Yes."

Rodney's hands skittered over the controls and Teyla kept encouraging and ordering him and occasionally pinching him until they landed outside the Happy Helg. Then she lowered the hatch, pushing Rodney before her and they immediately learned three things: that John was asleep upstairs in his room, that Ronon was asleep in the barn and that Rodney had left his boots on the Waffle. He stood in the mud and the still drizzling rain and looked down at his socks in dismay, as they sank slowly into the mud.

"Never mind," Lil smiled. "Come inside," she continued. "There's hot food and warm beds and more than just your teammates waiting for you."

"Boudicca?" Rodney's eyes brightened.

"And the little ones."

Lil ushered them inside and Teyla was aware of very little else than hazily consuming something warm, the challenge of the steep flight of stairs and then the welcome quiet of her room and the softness of the bed.

oOo

The sky was lit orange, the fire spat and cracked, and burnt wood shifted and fell. Time to run; run over the blackened remains, through choking ash and plumes of smoke, the flames a jeering crowd to either side, scorching skin, burning hair, snapping at his heels. Run! Run or be devoured.

John sat up, coughing and choking, something over his mouth and nose, which he tried to push away. The obstruction was removed, there was a calm voice, and it was not the sky glowing nor leaping wildfire that lit it, but the white-washed walls of his room at the Helg reflecting the soft glow of the tame fire in the grate. The voice belonged to Jennifer Keller, an oxygen mask in one hand and a cup of water in the other, which she passed to John. He drank and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the cup back to her.

"Okay?" she asked.

He nodded and croaked, "Yeah," and noticed that the other two beds were occupied; Rodney, curled protectively around his bandaged wrist and Ronon, lying on his front, various dressings patching his back and shoulders. John looked questioningly at Keller.

"Burns," she murmured. "Could have been a lot worse. Then she asked, "How do you feel?"

"F-," he began, automatically, then thought about it. "Thankful to be alive," he said eventually, which he knew wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"Hmm..." Keller sounded disapproving, as if she were determined to get to the bottom of that statement. "Seeing as you're awake, eyes open and everything, for a change," she said, stacking up his pillows so that he could sit back comfortably, "I want to get a proper look at them."

"Huh?"

"Your eyes. Teyla said you had dust and grit in them, and then there was all that smoke, all of which, incidentally also went in your lungs, hence the precautionary oxygen mask."

"Oh. Yeah. Is Teyla okay?"

"She's fine. Just a strained knee, which she needs to rest."

John tried not to squirm while Keller did her thing with eye drops and an uncomfortably bright light uncomfortably close to his eye.

"So," she murmured as she peered, ratcheting the little dial on her instrument, "I found your usual collection of damage picked up from treating your body like some kind of all terrain vehicle." John smirked and huffed a laugh, which made his head bob. "Keep still, Colonel. But my informant..."

"Teyla," he interrupted.

"Mmm... Ronon too." She swapped to the other eye. "They told me, be sure and check your ribs because you had one hell of a bruise."

"Oh," he said.

"Oh," she agreed. "What's the story?"

"Um, well, yeah." He avoided her gaze and fiddled with the blankets. "I think one of 'em was cracked and then I fell down a hill and then..." He paused again, then mumbled, "Pretty sure I was, um... dying. And then that thing fixed me."

"Fixed what?" she insisted.

"Oh, you know, punctured lung, blood everywhere, that kinda thing."

Jennifer sat down on the bed. "How did it fix you?" she asked, her voice carefully restrained.

He remained silent and rubbed the spot on his chest where the Guardian's substance had invaded his body; because, yes it had saved his life, but it had been an invasive act nonetheless.

"I see," she said realising he didn't want to tell her. "Did you lose much blood?"

He shrugged.

"Did it... replace any?"

"Maybe?"

She breathed out a long sigh. "I think you have a date with my scanner, Colonel. And I see what you meant by, 'thankful to be alive,' now. Anyway," she got up and sorted through her medical bag. "You have a couple of minor corneal abrasions, but some eye drops should sort that out."

John held himself rigid again while Keller put drops in his eyes; they stung and he wanted to rub them.

"It's tomorrow night, right?" he asked. "I mean, the fire was last night and I missed most of the day, but..."

"Yes, it is," she said. "And Colonel Carter came here and then gave up and went back to Atlantis because none of your team could stay awake long enough to give any kind of sensible report."

"Oh."

"And I took my team on a tour of the farms, courtesy of the very lovely landlord and his kind of bumpy cart." John shuffled down the bed and Keller helpfully rearranged his pillows. "Checked out the locals, treated some burns, some smoke inhalation. Nothing too serious," she said, at his worried look.

"And now you're playing night nurse, too?"

She shook her head. "Just for a couple of hours. My shift's nearly up. And you should go back to sleep."

"Hmm, yeah, he said, drowsily. "Hope there'll be plenty for breakfast."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

There was a lingering scent of smoke hanging in the air. Colonel Samantha Carter paused on the mossy stone platform in front of the Gate as the event horizon cut out, and looked around at the forest. Birds that had been disturbed by her arrival picked up the threads of their song, and interrupted rustlings in the undergrowth resumed. The woodland, here at least, was lush and green, and Sam could see a scattering of tiny pale shoots that must have sprung up since the previous day's rainfall.

She set off down the forest path, eager for her many questions to be answered, her appetite merely whetted by the cryptic, jumbled phrases uttered by the exhausted team the day before, and Jennifer's somewhat puzzling medical report. It was good to be off-world, she thought, striding out energetically and breathing deeply of the fresh, if slightly barbecue-tinged air.

She arrived at the clearing in front of the Happy Helg in time to see Jennifer and her medical team trundling off in the opposite direction, past the parked Jumper and onto the the main forest track, presumably to check on some of the fire-related injuries, although judging by the laughter that floated back on the light morning breeze, the outing was also destined to be pleasurable.

Colonel Sheppard and his team variously sat, lolled or slouched around one of the tables in front of the pub, the debris of an extensive breakfast arrayed on empty platters between them. They looked reasonably alert compared to the previous day and reasonably whole, most of their injuries being hidden by an eclectic mix of uniform and borrowed clothes. John's outfit looked like it belonged to the landlord, Tam, a man built on a much larger framework, and was set off by a large dressing on his forehead. It would be unkind to laugh, though, so she'd try not to, especially knowing that McKay and probably Ronon too, would already have tested John's capacity for being teased to its limit and beyond. They turned at the sound of her steady tread.

"Good morning!" she greeted the team, but didn't hear any of their responses, because she suddenly found herself under the fierce scrutiny of a pair of golden eyes, glaring out from the shadows under the table. Two smaller pairs of eyes also blinked uncertainly from between the legs of John's team.

Sam stopped and knelt down on the ground and felt a smile break unstoppably over her face.

"She won't come to you!" McKay's eye-roll was almost audible.

"I didn't serve on a team with Daniel Jackson for all those years without learning a thing or two about first contacts, McKay!" Sam had been longing to meet Boudicca, and she allowed her honest, open fascination to show on her face and body, remembering all the times wary natives had been won over by Daniel's innocent, heart-on-his-sleeve sincerity. The priss emerged, and strode directly toward Sam, placed her front paws on Sam's thighs and bent her head forward. Their foreheads touched, Athosian-style, and Sam saw Elizabeth's face, with a sense of regret, and then her own. She saw the forest burning, and her team's attempts to help, and she felt Boudicca's protectiveness toward her world and toward her human friends.

"What's she saying?" interrupted Rodney. "You'd better not be talking about me!"

The exchange of thought broken, Boudicca's ears twitched, but then she resumed and, at first, Sam was confused. She saw the movement of the wind in the forest; the way it plays lightly with leaves and ruffles fur, the way it can bite and jab as sharp as a thorn, the way it blusters and howls in the mouth of the cave, but then, when your whiskers cross the threshold, it sinks to a murmuring in the long grass. She felt how the wind can be determined, finding its way into every tiny chink, and how it can, just occasionally, when the mood or some unknowable urge takes it, root up entire trees, a powerful, unstoppable force. She saw the forest, and the wind, and the priss's knowledge and love of both. Then Sam found herself blinking into the yellow eyes, and suddenly tears were in her own, which she didn't feel the need to hide.

"What? What did she say?" Rodney demanded. He stood directly behind Boudicca, who calmly removed her paws from Sam's thighs and began winding her sinuous furriness around his legs.

"You're incredibly lucky, McKay," Sam said, wonderingly. "She knows you. She sees you. Through and through, inside and out. And she loves you." Sam climbed to her feet and looked at him, conscious of a slight feeling of envy.

"Oh." It was Rodney's surprised, vulnerable voice; the one that she hadn't known and wouldn't have believed existed, when they first met. "Yes. Um. Well."

Sam slapped him on the back, in a hearty military fashion that she knew he'd find irritating, to dispel the hanging emotions.

"Good thing you didn't try first contact Sheppard-style," said Ronon.

"It worked, didn't it?" John drawled.

"Oh, well of course it worked for you!" jabbed Rodney. "Colonel 'Blow 'em up first, ask questions later'! You're lucky it interpreted a packload of C4 and a grenade as a chirpy 'hello'!"

"You're supposed to exchange gifts. It's in the protocol," John smirked. "I handed over some examples of our technology, and it..."

"Saved you from a gory death with its excruciatingly painful healing techniques!" Rodney interrupted.

"I didn't say..."

"You didn't have to."

"Gentlemen?" Sam broke in firmly. She pulled up a chair and sat down. "I think I need to hear this from the beginning." Rodney and John both drew breath to speak. "Teyla? Perhaps you could start."

oOo

Teyla spoke about their journey into the mountains, while Lil and Tirren cleared away the breakfast things, and then she listened, when Rodney, unable to contain himself, held forth about his discoveries at Altamontaris. Rodney faltered at the arrival of a tray of tea and cakes, and Teyla watched with amusement as his attention became divided and then wholly claimed by the refreshments. John took over, with Ronon as back-up, telling of the accidental release of the Guardian, John's retrieval of the Jumper and the last-minute rescue from the grenza. Their report had reached the discovery of the forest fire and the splitting up of the team when there was an interruption; a cart arrived, carrying Grella and the children. Introductions were made, more tea was brought (and pickled eggs at Maddy's insistence), and Lil was invited to join the group and sat down. Tallen and Ellet wandered over to a lingering puddle and began a muddy game and Grella, having unwrapped Penda from her back-carry, passed the baby absently to her left, which seat happened to be occupied by Rodney. Rodney held the dribbling baby stiffly and looked as if he was wondering how short a turn of 'pass the baby' he could get away with, without giving too much offence.

The informal meeting resumed. Sam's blue eyes sparked with interest when she heard about the Ancient's methane capture machine and Rodney's use of it for cloud-seeding.

"Good work, Rodney," she said. "We'll have to come up with a better name for it, though."

Penda shrieked and Maddy passed her an egg, which she proceeded to squeeze in between her chubby fingers.

"Nothing wrong with calling it the Waffle," said John. Ronan rumbled agreement, and Rodney tutted, passing Penda to John and brushing chunks of pickled egg off his lap.

"That flying thing?" said Maddy, her cheeks bulging with egg. She pushed the bowl over to Penda, who, under John's casual supervision, a hand firmly gripping the back of her dress, was trying to crawl onto the table to reach the eggs. "Looked like a little moon. We'll call it that."

"It's not a moon," disputed Rodney, also in dispute with Penda over the bowl.

"Looked like one."

"No, it didn't. Doesn't," argued Rodney, frustrated in his attempts to gain control of the eggs as John extended his arm, thus increasing Penda's range.

"Looked like a waffle," said Ronon.

Teyla noticed Sam put a hand to her brow and close her eyes in what appeared to be an attempt to recruit her flagging patience.

"Rodney, how long will it take to reduce the planet's methane levels?" Teyla asked, bringing the meeting back on track.

"Mm...well," he said, failing to look professional, with flecks of egg yolk on his chin. "I've set the autopilot to maintain a height of three thousand metres, circling the globe, and avoiding mountain ranges obviously. My estimate is three to six months to bring the level within normal parameters."

"And then will the ZPM become available?" Sam asked.

"Well, that'll be up to the Montareans," said Rodney, with unusual diplomacy. "Although, it's been busy upsetting the global climate for several thousand years; I'm not sure it'll be up for much more in the way of significant action."

At that point, Ronon, who had been twitching impatiently for the last ten minutes, stood up and wrested control of the baby from John, bore her over to the puddle and joined in the messy game with every appearance of enjoyment.

"So, we're the Montareans," said Grella, smiling as her children (and Ronon) grew progressively more filthy.

"A serviceable enough name," approved Lil.

"Huh," Rodney muttered, unimpressed with this lukewarm reception. "They're lucky it wasn't planet Zygothroop, because then they'd be Zygothroopis."

"Would the lives of the Zygothroopis be of any less value than the Montareans, Rodney?" asked Teyla, carefully maintaining a stony-faced expression, one eyebrow raised.

"Um... No?" he back-tracked, weakly.

"Nice one, Teyla," smirked John.

"Oh, ha, ha," grumbled Rodney. "Let's all wind up the hero of the hour."

"C'mon, Rodney," John said, not disputing Rodney's self-bestowed title, but gifting him with an exuberant elbow in the ribs. "Lighten up!"

"We're very grateful for having our weather set to rights," said Lil.

"And for having the Gardener to help us," agreed Grella.

"What? Gardener?" snapped Rodney.

"Oh, we were calling it the Guardian and some of the little ones got a bit mixed up and started calling it the Gardener. So it stuck and everyone's calling it that now."

Rodney slapped a palm to his face. John grinned.

"Gardener! I like it!" he said.

"And it does," said Grella. "Garden, that is. It's sorting out the burnt areas a treat, ready for planting."

"Although," put in Lil, "there's talk we won't plant it all. Or at least not with trees. We're thinking a field would be nice. For fairs."

"And racing!" said Maddy eagerly, taking the last egg with a muddy hand. "You could go really fast on a nice, wide-open field."

"You could, couldn't you?" said John, thoughtfully.

This comment was met with such a swift and resounding veto from all the women round the table that Rodney began to make clucking noises and calling John 'hen-pecked'. The meeting dissolved into chaos and Teyla, with a suppressed smile, left John and Rodney to their sniping, to play with the young children, who seemed in some ways mature by comparison. But as she watched Penda making muddy handprints all over Ronon's clothes, she reflected on her teammates' bravery, their resourcefulness and their tenacity and she knew that she loved them for all of their qualities, those that made her proud and those that simply made her laugh.

oOo

Rodney's voice broke into John's post-lunchtime doze, by the fire in the parlour of the Happy Helg.

"You want to go there, don't you?" said Rodney. "You do, don't you? Shall we go there? Now?"

"Not now, Rodney!"

John opened his sluggish eyes and hauled himself up from where he'd been lying on the settle. His bruises and abrasions protested and he wondered if he should give in and go to bed. McKay would make remarks about Grampa and afternoon naps, but even so it might be worth it.

"What's up, McKay?" he croaked.

"Nothing!" said Sam, running her fingers over Boudicca's soft fur. She didn't look much like the Commander of an Ancient city, sitting on the hearthrug with the priss draped over her, her cheeks flushed with warmth and pleasure.

"C'mon, Sam, you know you want to!"

"Want to what?" asked John.

"Take a quick flight out to our city, to Altamontaris," said Rodney.

"Atlantis is our city," said John.

"Yes, don't insult your girlfriend, I know!" This earned Rodney a glare from beneath John's heavily lowered brows. "Okay, I mean our newly-discovered city."

John yawned and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

"Yeah, sure, I'm up for it," he said, casually.

"I don't think Jennifer would clear you for that, John," said Sam, doubtfully.

"Keller's not here," dismissed John. "And McKay could fly."

"With a sprained wrist?"

"Hey, I installed a ZPM in freezing water and flew the waffle to an amazing victory with this wrist!"

"Which is why you need to rest it now!"

"Sam." John tried that thing with his eyes and a kind of sad face that seemed to work quite often. "It's just a short hop in the Jumper. Just a little twirl round the mountain."

"To view a timeless city: carved from the ancient rock, wreathed in majesty!" encouraged Rodney, grandly.

"And there are these cool coloured glass towers that stick out the top. Real cool," John said, projecting sincerity.

oOo

It wasn't quite the trip that Rodney had had in mind. When Sam had finally agreed to go, Lil had been tending the fire and at her rather wistful look, Sam had asked if she'd like to come too.

"It is your planet, after all!" Sam had said.

And then the whole thing degenerated into a three-ring circus, Rodney thought, bitterly, feeling something drip down his neck. _Probably baby-drool, _he thought. Boudicca was obviously going to be a well-behaved passenger and she kept the prissets in line with no more than a flick of a whisker. But Grella's bunch? Well, there was the mud, for a start! And Ronon wasn't much cleaner! Rodney felt like the jealous owner of a pristine vintage car, forced to take the family on a road trip.

Then they'd started to sing. Rodney gritted his teeth and glanced across at John in the co-pilot's seat. The man was actually asleep! Asleep, damn him! Not even joining in with Rodney's annoyance, let alone doing his bit to entertain the rabble.

"There it is! There it is!" Maddy shrieked, right next to his ear, causing the Jumper to lose about ten metres suddenly. The inertial dampeners took care of it, but, even so, John jerked awake.

"Want me to take her, McKay?"

"No, thank you very much Colonel Dopey! Go back to sleep!"

"That makes no sense, McKay," said John, rubbing his shadowed eyes. "Sleepy, not Dopey."

"Oh, hi ho!" sneered Rodney.

"It's beautiful!" Sam's awed tone almost made up for the trials of the journey. Rodney turned his attention to Altamontaris, shining in the lowering sun. He lost some height so that the light shone through the huge, broken, rainbow-coloured tubes that crowned the city and flew lower still so that the weathered turquoise facing was visible, the still-proud columns and those that had fallen, the domes, the towers, the tiers upon tiers of buildings great and small, the arches and buttresses, the windows opening from rooms carved deep into the mountain and finally the great fallen arch that looked out toward the east.

Boudicca, her front paws resting on the edge of the console, turned round to Rodney, growled resonantly and touched her nose to his. He scratched absently between her ears and banked the Jumper to head back toward the forest.

"None of us knew," said Grella.

"We had no call to come out here," said Lil. "It's a hard country. Nothing much growing."

"Beautiful, but harsh," agreed Grella. "A place of times long past, probably best left alone."

"Your Guardian came from there, though," said John.

"Gardener, Gardener!" Tallen yelled.

"Rodney, take us to see it! Please!"

Rodney was inclined to deny them the treat as the price they should pay for dirtying the Jumper. And singing.

"Just a quick fly past, on the way home, Rodney," encouraged Sam.

Grumbling, he acquiesced. John was asleep again. _Chuh!_

oOo

The Guardian was content with its work. It had found the purpose for which it had been designed, the creatures it must protect and the environment it would maintain, faithfully. It was unfamiliar with the concept of emotions, but it had begun to feel a certain level of dissatisfaction with its form. The little creatures all seemed to have a set pattern; a standard to which they adhered, and the Guardian decided that it might be best, when it was convenient, to take on this same form. Thus, it formed itself into a body, with two upper appendages for grasping things and two lower ones, upon which it balanced. It then realised that the best way to experience the world with any degree of similarity to the little ones, was to simulate some senses and cluster them at the top of the body in the form of a head. There was then some inner debate about the surfacing of the new body and the Guardian decided, in order to be a familiar, maybe even approachable being to its little charges, it would array itself in the colours and textures of the forest. The creatures had fought to defend their forest and so it must be an acceptable thing to them and, the Guardian discovered, it deeply wanted acceptance. It arranged its outer layer in rough-textured browns and delicate slivers of green and then it made its visual sensors match this appearance, giving them a slight liquid sheen and a green light that would appear to spring gently from within. The Guardian realised that it enjoyed its new appearance and hoped that some of the little ones would come soon and perhaps be sufficiently unafraid to interact. Perhaps it could learn to imitate their rhythmic disturbance of air molecules; in fact, the Guardian was sure it could and created a mouth for that purpose.

It continued with its work, experimenting with the air disturbances, realising that auditory receptors were required and then amusing itself with the deep booming sounds that it naturally seemed to produce.

oOo

Far above, Rodney angled the Jumper so that the passengers could look down over the forest. At first there was dismay at the extent of the fire's destruction and the mood became sombre. Tallen began to cry from his vantage point in Ronon's arms and Ellet, standing up on John's lap to see over the console, his hands holding her steady, began to sniff and her lip trembled so that Rodney had to blink and grit his teeth and pretend to be unaffected. Then Maddy gave another of her characteristic ear-spliting yells and everyone's attention was on the Guardian.

"Garner!" Ellet shrieked; with typical inaccuracy, Rodney thought.

They looked. Rodney brought the Jumper down so they could all have a good view. Then he lowered it a bit more. And stared. And then, really, it was all a serious and not-at-all sentimental or over-excited physicist could do to maintain even the remotest semblance of dignity. John, to whom dignity was a foreign concept, was grinning like a lunatic.

"That, my friends!" announced Rodney, seeing John's foolish grin and raising him the broadest of red-faced, teary-eyed beams. "That," echoed John, and they finished together: "is an Ent!"


End file.
